


Disconnect

by Azilver



Series: Disconnect Verse [1]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Big Bang Challenge, F/M, M/M, Minor Character Death, Original Character(s), Pacific Rim Big Bang, Parent/Child Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-05
Updated: 2013-12-05
Packaged: 2018-01-03 13:34:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1071065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azilver/pseuds/Azilver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Herc had stood by and let his son walk away once. Given a second chance, he'll follow him... even if it's down the rabbit hole the drift created.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disconnect

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [Elsewherewolf](http://archiveofourown.org/users/elsewherewolf), watch out for her BB! and [Kaijusizefeels](http://kaijusizefeels.tumblr.com/), my amazing artist for this! 
> 
> Both of these fab people, thanks so much for your support and assistance- and as for being persons to rant at on occasion! As well as for all the really really long convos and discussions :D
> 
> There is also a soundtrack put together for Disconnect [here](http://8tracks.com/azilver/disconnect).

 

When the breach is closed, it’s like the world can finally breathe again. The news spreads like wildfire and the celebration lasts for days on end. Everyone finds some release amongst the flowing alcohol, drugs and writhing bodies.

 

Everyone except Hercules Hansen.

 

When even the skeleton crew remaining in the Shatterdome have dug up enough booze to hold an impromptu party in the mess, he stays in the LoCCent. He wants to lash out and destroy something or someone.

 

Angela, Scott and now Chuck.

 

He’s given everything to the PPDC, his youth and blood, and it still took what was most precious to him. For all their arguing and tension, Herc had loved his boy more than anything. Amongst all the fighting there had been good times, times when they had smiled at each other and taken comfort in each other’s presence. Chuck was the one good thing left at the end of the day, when his hands were torn and bloodied and even his head wasn’t a refuge anymore. Even in those moments his son had hated him, Herc was happy to know he was there.

 

And now he was gone. Lost to a war no one had imagined.

 

He can’t break down, not even when he manages to get back to their… his quarters now. Max knows something’s wrong, he’s curled up in his basket with Chuck’s discarded t shirt. He whimpers when Herc collapses on his bunk and comes up to rub against his legs. All the man can do is pick him up and hold him close, choking on the grief clotted in his throat.

 

*****

 

It had been three days since the breach had finally been closed. Since they’d lost the Marshall. Since Herc had lost his son. After days of celebration, mourning, relief and enough admin to choke a Kaiju, it was time to consider the funerals. Herc just wanted space. So, he’d found his way to the only place where people weren’t likely to wander- the empty bays once filled with the still, gigantic Jaegers and the flurry of personnel, engineers and rangers.

 

For a moment, he could breathe without suffocating on pain and loss.

 

“Sir! Herc!” He hears Jez call out to him through the silent Jaeger bay.

 

“Jez, over here.” He called out to the blonde. She ran across the hall, a surprisingly delighted grin on her face. Herc had known Jezebel for the last four years since she joined Striker Eureka’s engineering team and he couldn’t recall ever seeing her look so, well, happy. There were tears in her eyes, even though she couldn’t seem to stop smiling, her cheeks flushed and fists held tight to her chest as she babbled, “We found him! Oh my god! He’s alive! You have to come now, they’ll be here soon!”

 

Sighing to himself, he reached out and took hold of her shoulders, feeling her excitement vibrate through her. “Calm down, girl. Now, what are you going on about?”

 

She reached a hand to cover her mouth as she sobbed a breath, finally calming. “Herc,” She met his gaze seriously. “It’s Chuck.” She drops her hand from her mouth, a joyous smile blooming as she does. “We found him, he’s alive.”

 

The outside world fell around them and he felt his heart clench and then jump. “What?” He could barely force out the whisper.

 

“One of the cleanup teams was running a final sweep northwards and picked up a signal on one of their detectors. They found an escape pod, damaged pretty badly, god knows how it managed to get so far, but Chuck’s alive!” Herc barely registers the details, instead he sweeps the engineer into a fierce hug.

 

In the distance he can make out a cheer going up in the ‘dome.

 

*****

 

Three days….

 

Chuck’s escape pod had been drifting for three days. The explosion had tossed it away from the initial site and wrecked the systems which would have alerted the LoCCent and recovery teams. By the grace of whatever gods watched over Jaeger pilots, two of the flotation balloons had managed to deploy, keeping the head section afloat. The seals had been melted and the release mechanism had malfunctioned. Only a crack in the clear screen had allowed enough oxygen to pass through to keep Chuck alive.

 

That’s what the crew reported as they came in. Luck and providence had the discovery chopper be big enough to transport the pod directly back to base. Herc would have flown a chopper out himself if it wasn’t.

 

There’s a rush of activity when the rescue chopper lands. One of the medics runs up to Herc, explaining that they can’t open the pod because the seal and release mechanism have been damaged. It will take four men to heave the pod out onto the bay floor but Herc had greater priorities and he’s already running to one of the storerooms.

 

He’s a soldier, trained for emergency response and quick decisions. Panic and fear are familiar company now and Herc can easily push them aside to sort through the information he has on the situation and his intimate knowledge of Striker’s escape pods. The seals on the escape pods are strong, but now these ones are also partially melted. Removing the whole thing would take too long and cutting into the clear plate might injure Chuck. The mental blueprint in his head re-orientates itself. He knows the back section is sealed to prevent water damage, as it contains the power supply and majority of the pods circuitry, but if they can cut a section in the back panels where the battery is stored they can pull him out.

 

Storeroom two has the torches and tools they’ll need. He’s shouting orders as he grabs what he can, calling for whatever else he needs. The crew respond with the efficiency they’ve been trained for, everyone knowing what to do.

 

In minutes Herc and his head mechanics, Fagan and Eric, are set up on the floor of the recovery choppers hangar assessing the pod. He can’t look at Chuck, he needs to focus and if he sees his boy’s face he may never be able to stop looking. He slips the sling off because fuck his arm, he won’t let someone else do this.

 

They manage to get the rear panels off of the head section and rip out the mechanics - fuck operational viability, that’s his boy in there! It’s not like Striker will need it anyway. The medics are monitoring the vitals they can access and some techs are trying to pry apart the release mechanism with little success.

 

Eric and Fagan grip the large power pack and pull. It gives slightly with a screech. It takes a few hard knocks with a chisel to the screws and another pull to release it. Then the three men grab the torches and start cutting. They need to be careful, all that lies between the torch flames and Chuck is a sheet of metal barely half a centimetre thick, but they also need to hurry. In the background they can hear one of the medics urging them on, that Chuck’s blood pressure is very low and they need to get to him now!

 

The engineers pull on some heavy duty gloves and grasp the edges of the metal and yank hard. Both men tumble backwards as it gives way and Herc dives into the gap. His hands are slick with his own sweat and the myriad of nicks and abrasions sting but he ignores it all to grasp at his son’s shoulders and gently pulls him from the pod.

 

The smell hits him first- old blood and infection, burned flesh and salt. He struggles to catalogue the injuries under this son’s armour but he can make out burns and blood, what looks like shrapnel imbedded in his side and a large section of his shoulder armour appears melted. He can only hope that no vital organs or vessels were hit and, somehow, the shrapnel hasn’t shifted during transport but now there’s blood running freely. He ignores the flare of agony that ricochets down his shoulder as he puts pressure on one of the wounds and calls for the medics.

 

He has his boy in his arms, breathing and barely alive, as the medics push through the gathered crown with a gurney. In seconds they have Chuck loaded and they’re off running to med bay.

 

*****

 

It takes Mako’s gentle reassurances and Becket’s firm hand to get Herc back to his… their quarters. They promise to alert him at any news about Chuck’s condition and won’t leave the waiting room, as long as he takes some rest, gets a shower and eats. That way he won’t be dead on his feet when Chuck wakes up.

 

There’s blood all over him, both his son’s and his. His arm aches horribly.  Max whines when he sees him but then he picks up Chuck’s scent and goes mad with excitement. Herc doesn’t know what to do- he vaguely thinks he may be in shock- and can only stand there and let the bulldog jump around, barking and whining. He must have mumbled something because Max quiets down and heads back to his pillow.

 

He’s in the shower, the scent of blood and soap around him, when he realises that he somehow made it there and he’s still dressed. It’s ludicrous but he starts to laugh.

 

It’s a miracle. It’s hell. It’s a nightmare that he wants to wake up from and never wants to leave. His laughter chokes and he’s trembling, falling to his knees and sobbing. He breaks down like he hasn’t allowed himself to in years, since a few tears at Angela’s memorial.

 

His boy’s alive.

 

And he’s hurt and Herc can’t do anything but wait.

 

*****

*****

 

Chuck’s alive. He shouldn’t be but he is. The surgeons had to remove sections of his large intestine, pancreas and stomach courtesy of shrapnel damage. He’ll need skin grafts to sort out the damage from where his drift suit had melted into his skin. He’s lucky all pilots have blood on ice for emergencies.

 

The doctors tell him that his son also has some radiation poisoning but it’s treatable. All pilots were on medication for potential radiation exposure and it seems to have diminished the effects on Chuck. They don’t think it’s a wise idea to tell the new Marshall that his son coded on the table once.  The thing that worries them now is the swelling in his brain. The MRI shows some bruising and bleeding around a fracture in his left temporal bone. They were able to relieve the pressure but now it’s a waiting game.

 

Physically, Chuck is expected to make a good recovery. He may experience some nerve damage to his left side thanks to the shrapnel but should recover most if not all functionality with therapy. They have therapists in to massage and exercise the man’s muscles as he is still in a coma.

 

Two months pass slowly for Herc. He spends as much of his time as possible at Chuck’s side, but he is also the Marshall now. Somehow, he’s expected to find new direction for the Shatterdome. The world has its eye on him and their operation. He’s given the least number of interviews he’s allowed to and politely turns down invites from presidents and other powerful people. They just don’t understand, never have, what closing the breach has cost them, what it means.

 

He’s seen the articles and news reports, hailing them as heroes and cheering on the various factions. As time goes on he doesn’t miss the darker commentary either. The questions about why it took so long, who’s in charge now, what will happen to the Jaeger tech. Herc is no fool and has been around long enough to predict that someone, in some shady circle of government, is already turning their gaze to the Jaegers, seeing tools for power and conquest.

 

His office has become a fire hazard of late with so much paperwork to do some days he feels somewhat overwhelmed. Other days he’s managing transfers of personnel and requests for information. The most overwhelming task is the slow dismantling of sections of the Shatterdome. Monitoring and supervising the process takes up most of his time and the safety issues are never ending.

 

Then there was Gottlieb’s wife having her baby and the whole ‘dome deciding to throw an impromptu farewell and baby shower right before an inspection by three security chiefs! They still get phone calls from Germany demanding that Geizsler not kill himself out of stupidity or that the chalkboards be treated gently.

 

Amongst the weirder shit he’s had to deal with was the head of one of Hong Kong’s top gangs stalking his top Kaiju biologist. He’d given up telling Newt to stop accepting the man’s ‘gifts’ (he made sure to document the incident where one of the Kaiju parasites got loose, who knew Becket could shriek so loudly? Chuck was going to get a kick out of the vid feed.) and just instructed security to make sure to escort the man or his underlings straight to and from the lab.

 

Screw it. Whatever weird shit the guy’s into with Chau he doesn’t need to know.

 

The world and life move on but Hercules Hansen is stuck in limbo, waiting for his son, his co-pilot, his partner in everything for the last few years.

 

Chuck’s condition doesn’t change. Then there’s a dip in his blood pressure. His condition is starting to deteriorate and he still won’t wake up. The swellings down and his brain activity seems normal, as if he’s awake. But he’s not.

 

*****

 

Late one night, fed up with paperwork and political nonsense, Herc grabs Max and they go for a walk around the ‘dome. He knows the place as well as he does his own quarters, so Herc just lets his mind wander as he walks, letting his feet take him where they will. It shouldn’t surprise him that they land up at Striker’s empty bay. The place is even more cavernous without the massive Jaeger taking up the room.

 

Ten years they’d fought a war they knew little about. They had lost so many people, not just pilots, but civilians, techs, scientists. There’s just a feeling of disconnect now, when he thinks about a world no longer on edge, waiting for that next incursion by a monster from their nightmares. The thousands of people who no longer have a direction or jobs, now that they don’t need Jaegers or that damned ‘Wall of Life’ anymore.

 

And somehow he’s expected to sort it all out!

 

Fuck them all. Fuck Pentecost for going out in a blaze of glory and leaving him stuck with the baby. Herc’s got one thing tying him to this all and he doesn’t know how long he’ll even have that. If Chuck doesn’t wake up soon it will all come to naught for Herc. He’s anything but stupid and knows that, before they found the third escape pod, they were considering putting him on suicide watch. They might have been right.

 

The strained but strong relationship he had with his son had been his salvation amongst all the chaos of Kaiju and death, of poisoned water and power-hungry governments. Most people had only seen the volatile moments, the sniping and digging words, the tension between them but that wasn’t everything. There had been good times, times when they had laughed and hugged, before the drift and the blurring of emotions. Even when most thought there was nothing but Striker holding them together, there had been love and happiness just to be together. The team understood, on some level, and the last idiot that thought they could get away with disparaging one Hansen in front of the other had left with their tail between their legs and future in tatters, after a week in the infirmary.

 

The last few weeks since transferring to Hong Kong had seen the animosity rise and he knows why.

 

Chuck was a good ranger and a better pilot, but that didn’t mean he was stupid. Both Hansens knew that part of their success came from their partnership. It would have been a disaster to split them up anytime soon but there had been rumours, especially once Pentecost started looking for Raleigh Becket. Herc was the only other remaining pilot who could pilot Gypsy and he had fought alongside the American.

 

He’d tried to explain to the kid that he wasn’t going anywhere but Chuck was as stubborn as he was and less trusting. It hadn’t surprised him that there’d been animosity between the two, nor that they came to blows (and by god had he had to bite his tongue not to break Becket’s pretty face for hurting his boy!). He’d gotten what had happened out of Chuck and even agreed with him somewhat, just not how he went about it.

 

Neither Hansen wanted a suicide mission, didn’t want to go out in ‘a blaze of glory’. The idea had always been to set the bomb and bail, to fight for their survival. Even when the situation had been at its worst, they hadn’t given up.

 

And for all Herc respected and even liked Mako, her inexperience almost cost them lives and could very well have meant the difference between coming back from the breach alive or… not. He trusted Becket, had fought with him but that had been years ago, before level threes and fours, with Yancy. Trusting him had meant putting, not only his life, but the life of his son, in the hands of a skilled pilot, yes, but one who had been inactive for five years.

 

Becket and Mako had almost taken out the fucking Loccent! The near disaster that had been the pair’s first drift had worried Herc badly. The difference between Chuck’s and his reactions was not one of degree but of maturity.

 

That meeting behind closed doors with Pentecost hadn’t just been a calm discussion of events. Herc had verbally flayed the other man. Up until then he had fully trusted and respected the Marshall and called him a friend, but Mako was not ready and giving in to sentimentality and doe eyes had almost gotten them all killed.

Herc knew it was his anger talking, but what was so fucking special about Becket that he thought that someone who hadn’t been in the field in years would manage it all? The kid was a mess on his own. Mako’s sim scores were perfect, but no sim could prepare someone for the drift and she had never dealt with her anger and pain like that before.

 

The drift gave people a way to talk, to feel and understand on a level most people never experienced. Being so close, so deep in someone else’s mind was intimate on a level that was indescribable. Getting trapped in a R.A.B.I.T., especially a strong one, could mean disaster in the field. That’s what practice drifts were for but not in a fully operational Jaeger!

If he had had any doubt of Chuck’s competency all those years ago when they started drifting, he would not have hesitated to pull him out, no matter who his co-pilot was or how much the boy landed up hating him. In the end, it wasn’t worth it.

 

Sending Chuck under with Pentecost had almost killed him. He’d had to pull on every last piece of ranger and training in himself not to fall apart. Not being able to say “Goodbye, I love you.” ripped at him with every breath.

 

Chuck had drifted with less than a handful of people and only Herc since he was fifteen and assigned as his co-pilot. Unlike him, Chuck struggled to find that balance with another person, to form that bond of trust, that was needed to successfully drift and reports from the academy had described how, even when a handshake was achieved, the drift was weak and erratic. More than one potential partner had reacted badly to drifting with someone so smart, so fast and so aggressive that it often felt like they had been mentally kicked out of the drift.

 

Eventually, the powers that be had decided, rather than lose a good pilot, to try and match him with an older experienced one. Their best and most adaptable, known for his ability to drift with almost anyone, who also happened to be the boy’s father. Familial matches had generally proved the most successful.

 

Neither Hansen had been happy but orders were orders. The kwoon had been a cakewalk, despite not training together for over two years, they had just slipped into their positions. He had just known how to move, what was coming and his boy was the same. Afterwards, they had just stared at each other, the idea that they were perfectly matched lying between them, the knowledge that they were going to have to drift together.

 

The idea of drifting with his son had been terrifying. He knew Chuck blamed him, even hated him and to have to see-feel-know that in the drift might have destroyed him. The drift was not a place for secrets and was where so many pilots failed. To drift with someone was to essentially open your mind and let someone else in. To let them see into you and-

 

…drifting. Would it work? The doctors said that Chuck was responding to some stimulus, like he was awake and aware, but just not of what was around him.

 

All Herc knew was that, when it came to his son, he was willing to try anything.

 

Scooping Max up, he took off running through the ‘dome, ignoring anyone who tried to get his attention and shouting, “Outta the way!” when people were in his way. He makes a brief stop at medical, drops Max on Chuck’s bed, taking an extra moment to kiss his son’s forehead and promise him that he won’t give up.

 

The first person he needed to see was Geiszler. The Kaiju specialist was the most likely candidate who would listen to him. He also knew a bit more about the drift than most doctors on base- having done it himself.

 

“Geiszler,” The guy actually jumped from where he’d been in raptures over something with Chau. The underworld boss just raised an eyebrow at Herc when he marched straight into the lab. It had gotten to the point where Herc was no longer surprised to find the man anywhere near the scientist. “I need you to bring up copies of our brain activity during drift.”

 

“Ah, what?”

 

“I know you have them.” He ignored the flustered denials from the shorter man and, instead, started typing away at a console. “Bring up the images and records of Chuck’s brain activity in the drift.”

 

Whatever or however he said it seemed to get the guy moving and in minutes the large displays were lit up with the images.

 

“That’s Chuck’s.” Geiszler pointed at the image of the various sections of a brain, areas lighting up as the record played. “It’s from your fight with Mutavore in Sydney.”

 

Herc nodded and brought up the records he’d snatched from medical. “And this is his brain activity now, in a ‘coma’.”

 

“Holy shit!” The scientist exclaimed, jaw dropping. Even Chau was looking on with interest. “That’s…, they’re nearly identical!”

 

It was something like a confirmation of what he’d hoped and Herc would take as much of that as he could get. It’s Chau who voices what they’ve realised, putting words to Herc’s hope.

“The kid’s in the drift.”

 

“And that means….”

 

For the first time in two months, Herc lets out a relieved sigh. “I can reach him.”

 

*****

 

This was probably one of the few times Herc will ever appreciate being the new Marshall. Even when some people disagree with him and his methods, he now has the final say. So, even when two of Chuck’s doctors and at least one of the neuro guys call bullshit on his plan, he has Chuck moved to a larger room with another bed and has equipment brought in.

 

The Jaegers are gone but there are enough parts remaining for the team to rig up a drift system outside of a Jaeger or sim. It takes four days of tireless work by everyone involved. Herc hasn’t felt so proud of Striker’s team or the ‘dome staff in so long. He realises that this, all of their effort and sleepless nights are them, showing their loyalty, dedication, trust and love for Chuck and him. If there was no other reason, he’d do this just for them.

 

It’s a Thursday when Geiszler calls him down to Chuck’s room, saying that they’re ready to initiate a drift.

 

There’s a number of medical and science staff, as well as Tendo and other LoCCent staff, in and around the room. It’s strange this. It’s been years since so many people were needed to perform a Neural Handshake, yet alone needed so many medical staff to keep an eye in things.

 

He strips down and into scrubs, just in case they tell him, before getting into the other bed next to Chuck’s. As the doctors connect various wires and relays to him, one starts explaining, “You’ll be immobile for an unknown amount of time, so we’ll need to monitor your temperature and heart rate. If the drift lasts longer than two hours we’ll insert a drip to keep you hydrated. ” They don’t talk about what will happen in the event the connection fails or worse, Herc is pulled in with his son. “We’ll monitor your vitals as per normal and, should you appear to be in trouble, we will

administer necessary medication and force you out of the connection, is that understood Marshall?”

 

It’s all been planned for the last few days and he’s been part of the program since early on. He’d lost friends and comrades, not only to Kaiju, but to the drift in those days before dual pilots, shared neural strain and plain understanding of what the fuck was going on. And even despite all the research they’ve done no one has ever attempted to initiate a drift with someone in a coma, or whatever their particular circumstances are.

 

So he just nods and lays back. The neural cap fits snugly as the mock-helmet fills with relay gel. The world is muffled and he has a few moments to turn and look over at Chuck. His eyes are heavy and dry. He blinks.

 

*****

 

It feels like he closes his eyes in the med bay and opens them in Striker. That’s where he lands up, in the con-pod in his gear and hooked up to command. Except nothing’s on. And despite the lack of lights he can see everything clearly.

 

He’s on edge as he disconnects from Striker. Something’s wrong here but he doesn’t know what, not yet, but it’s there at the back of his mind. This feels like a R.A.B.I.T., that distinctive slightly dulled feeling, but there’s none of the usual blur or incomplete spaces. He’s been a ranger long enough that when he feels that tingle at the back of his neck, he damned well listens!

 

It’s easy enough getting out of the Jaeger by himself, he’s done it so many times and, in another time, it would have been like any other sim. But it’s quiet outside, more so than when Jez had found him. The Jaegers are back in their bays, whole and new, standing guard like silent giants. But this time there’s no hum of electricity, no hushed sound of life just outside the doors. It’s empty.

 

It’s Hong Kong, that much is obvious to him, but a Hong Kong Shatterdome Herc does not recognise in its vast silence and empty halls. As he makes his way through the complex, he can’t help but be assaulted by memories, his mind filling in the maddening silence.

 

They’d closed the breach but lost Stacker, almost lost Chuck, his beautiful boy, but they had found him and after all they’d been through Herc had to, just had to, believe that there was a chance to get him back. A world without Kaiju was still worse than a world without his son, he just needed to find him first.

 

The Drift is supposed to create a connection between pilots which allows them to share the mental load required to utilise and operate a Jaeger. Officially and to the public, the PPDC has it all under control. Herc has been there since the start, he knows that line’s bullshit, and sometimes it’s like he’s seen it all. Ghost-drifting is real, despite what some of the shrinks say. There’s more though. 

 

After a while, after drifting often enough, there are side effects. Herc is probably the most experienced drifter still living, Chuck and he are and were the longest running co-pilots still alive. He knows all about ghost-drifting, he’d experienced it barely a few months into his partnership with Scott (and to all the gods he sometimes wishes he hadn’t) and had the scars of distraction to prove it. The shrinks say it’s ‘drift-hangover’, their minds needing to re-establish their own equilibrium.

 

The shrinks are full of shit.

 

People who’ve never drifted don’t know fuck all about it. He’s never understood how they could be expected to ‘help’ them or evaluate them.

 

Then there are the things that pilots only talked about amongst themselves. Early on pilots had learned to acknowledge the tensions between them as only ‘hangover’ lest they get pulled for ‘mental health reasons’ or worse.

 

It was only with others of their kind that words like ‘connection’ or ‘whole’ could be used, or the drift and what it left behind talked about - the parts of drifting which would have had you kicked out, separated or admitted, the things too personal and vague to discuss with someone who hasn’t ever drifted, especially some headshrinker who somehow had the influence to destroy the link which made two people exceptional. The shared knowledge, changes in habits, the lingering link between the pilots.

 

The Kaidanovsky’s had had it. The triplets too. By their second kill, Herc had known there were changes between his son and him, the little things that nobody but them would see or notice. Chuck liked sweetcorn, something Herc didn’t really have a taste for. He’d started to crave it. Chuck’s skill in Japanese has drastically improved in weeks, a language Herc had been well versed in by high school. Chuck unconsciously stood to his father’s left and Herc took to his son’s right.

 

Furthermore, he instinctively knew where to find his son no matter where they’d been in the Shatterdome. Like Aleksis and Sasha, like the Wei’s - the stronger the link became the easier and more comforting it was just to be together. It was a pull between them, so faint that it could easily be ignored but once you were together it was like something eased inside of you. It was why you could find most pairs together the majority of the time.

 

It was that link, he now realises, that had kept him from totally falling apart in the days following the breach closure. He hadn’t had the strength to reach for it but, on some unconscious level, he had known it wasn’t gone.

 

It was that link which Herc grasped onto, that faint something which flared all the brighter in the drift, and followed to their quarters.

 

Chuck was lying in Herc’s bunk curled around his pillow asleep. The older man’s throat tightened at the sight. Gods.

 

Silently, he made his way across the room and knelt at the edge of the bed just needing to take in the sight of his son, whole and back in their quarters, where he belonged. His boy was there, whole, alive and it was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. Even if it wasn’t real, just a memory-feeling in the drift, it was real to him.

 

“Chuck.” He breathed, not daring to reach out. “Hey, wake up now.”

 

“Dad?” Chuck jumped up and backed away, his eyes darting around the room reminding his father of a cornered animal. “Wha- where? What are you doing here?”

 

“Shh, it’s just me.” He keeps his voice low. “We’re drifting.”

 

His boy still looked scared and confused but there’s something like hope there now. He can see the moment Chuck pushes his doubts aside and straightens up. Ever the little soldier. “What happened? The Marshall, he initiated the payload, am I dead?”

 

“No!” He shouldn’t have shouted but, no, that fear isn’t coming true if he has any say in the matter. “The breach is closed and you’re alive. We found your evac. pod and you’ve been in medical for the last two months.”

 

The younger man looked even more confused so Herc just continued, “You’re unconscious, have been since we found you, but we don’t know why. Right now, we’re hooked into a drift, we’re inside your mind.”

 

He sees the thoughts running through his son’s mind, that incredibly smart brain putting it all together. “I’m caught in a R.A.B.I.T., somehow.”

 

Now he stands up and sits on the bunk, close but not touching. Chuck still looked skittish. “You had some injuries, from the fight or the blast, we’re not sure. Your left shoulder got messed up pretty badly and your suit got melted. Got yourself a nasty head wound too, some brain swelling but the docs sorted it out.” He chokes a little on the memories of how bad it had been- Chuck’s face pale and drawn, blood seeping into his pants as he held his son, gently pulling him from the pod, the smell of salt and burned metal- and has to remind himself that, physically, his boy is fine.

 

“The cleanup crew found your evac pod three days after, barely drifting. It was a mess, seals melted, only two floats left, no signal. Damned miracle! They couldn’t get it open out there, so they flew you back to base. Eric and Fagan had to rip up the pod and I pulled you out myself.”

 

Herc clenches his fists, trying not to move or do anything. It’s easy to rattle off information, stats, details but when it comes to expressing himself he just… can’t. But he has to.

 

“You’ve been in a coma for two months. We, I had no idea what to do! All I could think of was the drift. Got Geiszler and the techs to rig up something a few days ago after I saw the brain scans.”

 

Chuck looks at him in surprise. Sometimes he thinks his boy forgets that Herc’s not some simple soldier. To even get anywhere near the program you had to go through tons of tests, many of which required a high IQ. Pilots weren’t geniuses but they had to be in the top five to ten percent at pretty much everything.

 

What Chuck says next surprises him though.

 

“Why?” When Herc just looks confused, he presses on, even if he refuses to look his dad in the eye. “Why’d you come? Why bother or why not send someone else?”

 

“You’re my son.” He wants to say more, about how he loves the fool boy to the ends of the earth, how there’s no one else he could trust with something as precious as Chuck.

 

Maybe it’s the look on Chuck’s face, maybe it’s that for once the boy gives him the time to organise his thoughts and doesn’t walk away before he can sort the words out, but this time he manages. “You’re all I have, Chuck. My son, my co-pilot. And… I thought I lost you.”

 

He reaches for and pulls his son to him. “I wasn’t about to… I’m not giving up. I am bringing you back. Do you get that?” If he has to shake the boy a bit, he just needs Chuck to get it through that thick skull of his that his dad isn’t leaving him to die, he will. “Whatever it takes you are waking up and you are going to walk out of medical with me, okay?”

 

For a moment the younger Hansen says nothing, he just looks at Herc. Then he closes his eyes and nods, the weary set of his shoulders relaxes and Herc pulls him in closer, holding his boy tightly. Chuck lets loose a shuddering breath and curls into him.

 

They sit like that for a long time, father and son, before Chuck pulls away and wants to know everything that’s happened. So Herc tells him the longer version, he tells him about after the detonation, about closing the breach, about finding Chuck’s pod, about the surgeries and care he’s receiving, about his decision to try the drift. He tells Chuck about the changes to the Shatterdome, about baby Gottlieb and Max.

 

Eventually the boy yawns but makes no move to lie back.

 

It’s Herc who tells him to rest, knowing that on some level the boy’s injuries probably affect him here too, but Chuck pulls him down with him. It’s something they haven’t done often, especially recently. On those days which were worse than others, when they’d lost another pair of pilots, anniversaries too bloody to recall, or when it just became too much, they had been able to push aside their issues just to lie together in sleep. Now, it goes unspoken, their need for comfort and closeness.

 

As time passes, in that jagged way it does in the drift, Herc holds his boy close as he sleeps. He takes it all in, using the feel of his boy, his son, lying there in his arms alive and breathing as a balm against the worst three days of his life. Given the choice he’d lie there forever.

 

Stress and time take their toll as they are want to do and a blur creeps into the edges of his vision and….

 

*****

 

He blinks, one moment he’s with his son and the next he’s in med bay. Sound rushes in uncomfortably loud and fast. The doctors are in his face the moment his heart rate picks up- the beeping of the monitors sets his teeth on edge- asking questions whilst poking and prodding at him.

 

“Ge’ off.” Herc slurs, sitting up easily enough. It feels like he’s been sleeping too long, he’s mentally tired but otherwise fine.

 

“Marshall, please.” The head doctor sighs, making the group give him space as he swings his legs over the edge of the bed.

 

“M’fine, doc.” Cracking his neck makes a loud sound. “How long was I in?”

 

“Just under two hours. Handshake took easily,” She checks through her notes. “There was no change in your son’s readings, except for an increase in brain activity which we expected should this succeed.” She eyes him expectantly. “I take it that it worked?”

 

He nods, not sure if he’s comfortable explaining everything he saw-felt. “Yeah, wasn’t like a drift though, no cross-sharing or anything. Felt similar to being stuck in a R.A.B.I.T.”

 

“Similar?”

 

“Wasn’t quite right, more… real. But Chuck’s in there, he’s aware and hanging on.” He brushes off any other questions by heading to the changing room, even though he knows it’s only respect that keeps them all out. He needs the time to think.

 

*****

 

It takes some time but he manages to convince mostly everyone that another drift will be fine. He needs more time, as it is, to understand the situation better and figure out how he’s going to get his son back. Years of military training and experience have taught Herc to do proper recon before getting into anything or making a final decision.

 

He tells them the basics of what happened, that he found himself in a version of the Shatterdome and had tracked his son down and spoken to him. The key points were that Chuck was aware in there, in his head, and that Herc had been able to communicate with him what was going on. He doesn’t mention how empty the place was or that the boy appeared to be sleeping a lot- the shrinks and doctors would jump on things like that, he knows. At this point, he will say anything to keep this operation going.

 

They agree to ‘let’ him continue but only after a very thorough health assessment. They limit using the drift to once a day and only after he argued against them sending someone else every other day in his place.  There were signs that his entering the drift had actually caused the strain of holding it together to shift to him and that, since it wasn’t just his mind being supported, the strain would affect him faster and harder.

 

One of the doctors pulls him aside after the meeting to quietly inform him that Chuck actually improved slightly during the visit. He doesn’t ask why no one brought this up earlier, it’s no secret that there are those who don’t support him on this, but he’ll take all the hope he can get.

 

Despite everything, he is still the Marshall and he still has other responsibilities. It feels like there aren’t enough hours in the day anymore and even with the Kaiju gone there’s still plenty of aftermath to deal with.

 

They’d buried their dead months before but it takes time for anyone to be ready to really talk about what happened. Normally, Herc would just let things take their course but he’s the Marshall now and knows what it’s like to lose someone important to you. Stacker was a friend, as much as a senior officer could be, and Herc’s known Mako for years. He feels like he owes her something for what he’s kept in the face of her loss.

 

It doesn’t take much to track her down and when she stands, attempting to push back the pain in seeing him in the role of her sensei, Herc starts to talk.

 

He tells her about the man she knew, about his decision to raise her and the happiness she brought him, about the cancer eating him up from the inside and his mission to end the Kaiju war before his due time. He says nothing of the orders that held them back or the mistakes made in the efforts to save the world. He had been angry, yes, but he understood that Stacker had made the best decisions he could at the time.

 

“He saved my boy.” He tells her quietly as she wipes at the tears on her face. “I don’t know how or why, but I know it was him. Even at the end, he still managed to save one more person. And I will never forget that, neither should you.”

 

“But sensei is still gone and I’m alone….”

 

“Are you?” It was a thought he’d had after Angela, he understood the sentiment but also knew that it could lead to her pulling away from others unintentionally.

 

“You have us, the whole ‘dome, Miss Mori. You have Raleigh. You might not realise it yet but even with the little time you had in the drift, you will always have a connection. Trust me, that link will always be there. Don’t lock him out, he’s lost people too.”

 

This was the little girl he’d watched grow up alongside his own boy. He’d made a promise once to watch out for her and now he knew it meant more than what it had meant back then. “Keisoku wa chikara nari, ne?”

 

“Hai, so desu.” The small brittle smile she gave him was enough. The girl was strong, she would pull through and they’d all be there when she needed them.

 

*****

 

Chuck’s awake this time. He’s sitting on the floor, a pile of old books surrounding him, and it take a minute for him to realise he’s not alone. When he does he jumps to his feet and just stares at Herc, hands abortively reaching out for his father, who doesn’t hesitate and just reaches out, pulling his son to him, holding him close. Chuck doesn’t flinch from him, instead he clutches at Herc desperately and for a long, breathless moment the two Hansen men hold onto each other like lifelines.

 

“I thought I’d made it up.” The boy finally admits, holding on even tighter. “You disappeared. I woke up and you were gone.”

 

He wants to say he’s sorry, wants to say he’ll stay but he knows it would be pointless.  If it’s the last thing he does, Herc is going to get his boy to wake up in the real world.

 

“I’m here. I’ve got you.” And I am not letting you go.

 

*****

 

Chuck doesn’t know how long he’s been alone in his mind, time passes differently in the drift, just that it’s been a long time. There doesn’t appear to be any electricity and things like taps and burners only work sporadically. Chuck’s figured out most of this world. He usually eats the MRE’s from the kitchen, showering when the mood takes him (and when there’s water), raids rooms for books and works out.

 

He’s like a kid again, showing his dad around, talking about things they’ve both seen before. It’s good. Even if it’s nothing serious, they’re talking.

 

“Sabe would have flipped.” Chuck grins at him, digging into his MRE. “Remember? She hated all this processed junk.”

 

Herc remembers a bright smile and blond ponytailed woman who had initially been set to co-pilot with him. They’d had a high match, over 93%, the highest Herc had had for some time after Scott. Then Callum, a German ranger, had been transferred to the Sydney Shatterdome for training. He hadn’t been upset when the two had been a perfect match. Yet he still remembers the shy knock on their door and Sabe’s nervous smile as she apologised.

 

They may not have been co-pilots, but Sabe and Callum had become good friends of Hercules Hansen. Callum, a tall and muscular man, had dwarfed Sabe enough that even the Russian pair looked normal next to them. He had been the quiet, calm centre of the pair, while Sabe was full of energy, full of laughter and quick wit. More than once she had taken Chuck out in the kwoon. At first the boy had not liked the woman at all, despite Herc’s certainty that she found him adorable. After a while though, he’d warmed to her and then it was like they were best friends.

 

The ‘domes were little communities of their own, a world few outside could ever understand. You worked together, ate together, lived and breathed and built a future together. That was how Herc liked to believe he found himself on couches watching bad movies, waking up on the floor in a pile of limbs after a night of ‘bonding’ and happily handing over his (terrified) son to go shopping.

 

Six months into their partnership, after receiving notice that they were being sent somewhere on the South American coast, Callum had proposed. Herc had found Sabe outside that night. She had had a beer in one hand and the ring in the other. She hadn’t looked at him, already knowing who it was.

 

“You know, before this, before the Kaiju, I wanted to be an archaeologist. Digging up the past and uncovering secrets. My parents were killed in the second attack- they’d gone on holiday to Manila but I had to finish a paper. I had plans.” They’d talked about their pasts before, Herc knew her story.

 

Orphaned by the Kaiju, being tapped for the academy soon after, giving up years of study and potential safety because it felt right. Her story wasn’t unique, but it was hers. He’d seen so many young recruits driven by revenge, even his own boy to a degree, and yet, even in the drift, not once had he felt that hot slick anger-determined-pain from Sabe.

 

He’d hugged her then, knowing that sometimes it wasn’t about the loss but the helplessness, choices you couldn’t and wouldn’t change no matter the agony they caused.

 

“I thought I’d eventually meet someone, when I was much older, we’d date for a few years. Live together and eventually settle down. I never… I don’t jump into things. I don’t, but…We’re Mayflies now.”

 

She pulls away first and her eyes are red, black smudges around them. “Everyone else, they have time, but us, we’re Mayflies. We, us pilots, we wait for that moment and suddenly we transform and rise up. But, our lives are brief. Like a Mayfly.” Sabe’s smile was sad and happy, fierce and kind. “Yet, for a moment, that brief moment. We fly. I want to fly Herc, even if it’s only for a day, I don’t want to regret never seeing the sky.”

 

A week later they’d held the wedding in the Shatterdome. Though, Chuck had groused for days about being dragged out to go shopping for a dress, both Herc and he had been glad for the chance to wear their dress blues for something other than a meeting or a funeral for once, for something about celebrating life.

 

Callum had wanted a small ceremony but, when you were part of the ‘dome, nothing is ever small and by the time they were ready to say their vows the whole place had pitched in. It had been a memory Herc held on to when it felt like there was nothing left in their lives but Kaiju and blood- the laughter and smiles, Sabe dragging Herc onto the hangar floor turned dance floor, Callum stealing back his wife and pushing an embarrassed and laughing Chuck into his arms, the two of them having a playful twirl on the floor, Callum holding Sabe close in a kiss.

 

Both were dead little over a year later.

 

A Kaiju had been sighted close to the coast and they’d been deployed. Days before the couple and the Hansen men, on a training visit, had crowded around a table in the mess late one night and passed around a bottle of horrible booze and theories about Kaiju. Callum had muttered that the damned things were getting smarter. He had been right.

 

The Kaiju’s spiked tail had been aiming for the con-pod. In the LoCCent all Herc had heard was his friend’s screams for his wife.

 

“Please, fuck, Sabe, baby, please!”

 

The whole room had waited with their hearts in their throats. Eventually, the vox had crackled to life and they’d heard the coughing and ragged breathes. “I fucking hate being called that.”

 

“You weren’t answering, I had to get your attention somehow. How are you holding up?” Her silence was enough and Herc had not needed to see her vitals, he could hear the screaming of the warning sirens and the frantic beeping below that. The blow had caused a containment breach.

 

“No! No, you need medical right now!”

 

“We can’t let it get to the coast!” The shout cost her and she broke into a rough gasping cough.  “We have to end this now. Please, Callum.”

 

And they had.

 

By the time the choppers had hit the landing deck Herc knew that the Kaiju’s hit had sent shrapnel into Sabe and that later damage in the fight had left Callum with horrendous burns. They both had radiation poisoning.

 

Sabe had already been out when they were wheeled into theatre. She died twenty minutes later. When he’d asked after Callum, the doctor had only answered, “If she doesn’t wake up, I don’t want to either... he didn’t wake up.”

 

For the first time in years, Herc had held his son through the night, both fighting their grief. It wasn’t the first or the last time he questioned his decision to allow Chuck to join the program. He’d known that in all likelihood his own grave would be a crushed Jaeger at the bottom of the ocean somewhere.

 

His son’s almost had been.

 

Instead he’s stuck in his own head eating imaginary meals with him and discussing the food preferences of a dead friend.

 

“Yeah.” Herc nodded. “She would have.”

 

*****

 

Every time he drifts with Chuck it takes longer and longer.  His internal perception says it feels about the same length of time, but the real world says something else. The drift and neuro ‘specialists’ tell him that it’s similar to dreaming, that a person’s perception of time is altered and can feel longer than what it really is. He’s not convinced.

 

Herc’s been in the program since the early days and he’s been caught in a few R.A.B.I.T.s. Time is altered in them but not to the level he’s been experiencing. Coupled with Chuck’s slow deterioration he can only assume that the boy’s health, mental and physical, coupled with Herc having to take on more and more of the mental strain, are linked to the slowing down of time.

 

The naysayers have upped their calls to end this “dangerous and poorly constructed experiment”- like saving his son is worthless- but a few others have begun to question Herc about his own health and duties as Marshall. He wants to tell them that maybe if they stopped with their shit he’d be less stressed, that maybe more support and help finding out how to get Chuck back would be a better use of their time.

 

Instead he pushes himself harder. He has reports to go over, requests and paperwork to fill out, jobs to oversee and lives to manage during the day. In bed he tosses and turns, sleep illusive most nights or cold when he finds it.

 

He knows the lack of sleep and poor diet are taking their toll, and berates himself over it enough but leaving Chuck alone in that hollow, empty world is not an option.

 

*****

 

Chuck’s waiting for Herc outside the hatch. He makes a face when his father exits the conpod, “It wouldn’t open. I… I think I felt it when you connected so I came up here but the hatch wouldn’t open.”

 

Herc strips off his battle armour, shucks his circuitry suit down to the waste and ties the arms back. “Probably. Still your head, kid. Like when you share a R.A.B.I.T.”

 

They make their way back to their room in silence. Somehow it doesn’t surprise him to find his clothes in the dresser, Chuck’s mind has always been able to hold on to the finest details. They’ve also been able to share clothes for the last few years. He doesn’t speak, instead he grabs some pants and a t shirt, strips off the rest of the suit and slips into the clothes. It doesn’t matter that it’s not real, it’s a mental thing. They had always been quick to get back to their room and into other clothes after a Kaiju. This is just another habit, another part of their normal.

 

It isn’t until he’s standing barefoot in new clothes that he realises Chuck has been watching him the whole time. They’re not shy, having lost most ideas of modesty years ago from a combination of training, living on top of each other and the drift. But it tickles that something he’s forced to the back of his mind, something he’s seen in his boy’s mind since soon after this all started.

 

Drifting with someone requires more than the ability to fight well together. Raleigh had called it a ‘dialogue’ and it is in a way. You need to understand how that other person moves, thinks and works. To predict how they’ll move and be able to meet them there. It’s why Herc has always been pretty compatible with lots of people, he has a strong sense of empathy. It’s also why those matches have rarely been 100%, he knows how to mimic a dialogue.

 

You also need to trust your co-pilot, subconsciously and consciously. Sharing a mind-space is incredibly invasive, intimate and nerve wracking. It was why the majority of Jaeger pilot pairs were related or landed up involved (sometimes both). It doesn’t matter what you think and say on the surface, the drift goes deeper, pulls on that deepest part of you that can’t be denied.

 

He still remembers the day Chuck and he had first made the handshake. They had been perfect in the kwoon but most hadn’t believed they’d manage even a decent connection. The tension between them was well known and even the Marshall at the time hadn’t been sure. When the link had been initiated it had just been so easy. Since then their link had only grown. 

 

It had surprised them both, how easy it was to step into each other’s heads, the sense of warmth and comfort which they had never felt with another pilot or each other, really. Time had made that connection stronger and smoothed the edges of Chuck’s anger and Herc’s pain. They learned about each other, to understand where the other was coming from and how to talk without words.

 

There was a shift in their relationship. It happened with most teams. He had seen the drift turn the closest friends against each other and the worst enemies into lovers. Aleksis and Sasha had hated each other on sight. Within months they had been all over each other and married within the year. It had torn him and Scott apart. As for the Beckets, well, after Manila Herc had had firsthand experience with how it had changed their relationship.

 

The memory of those two beautiful boys, laughing and smiling at him in between kisses, beckoning him into their bed, was a R.A.B.I.T. Chuck had found. At first he had thought his son was disgusted, then embarrassed. It had taken him time and even then he had been blindsided to discover that all the anger Chuck aimed at the world was from jealousy. He knew the boy had adored the Beckets, idolised them even, and hadn’t been surprised that he might even have deeper feelings for one or both. If there was one thing Herc had made sure to be open with his son about it was the belief that love was more important than sex or gender.

 

Then a practice drift had pulled him into a memory-fantasy and the operator had had to cut the handshake. Chuck had ripped his helmet off and pushed his way out of the conpod before Herc had been able to even move beyond what he had seen. He hadn’t known how to approach what he’d seen-felt and the one time he had Chuck had all but punched him. So, he had pushed it aside until, finally, Chuck had made the first move months later.

 

It had been after another Kaiju, they had gone back to their quarters to change after their physicals and Herc had turned around to find Chuck just looking at him. He’d been looking at Herc like he was something important, even precious, when he had reached out and pulled the older man into a kiss. For a moment the buzzing aftermath of battle and drift had disappeared, giving way to sweet-yes-want-beautiful-NO! Herc had pulled away, taking care to be gentle for once, “We can’t.”

 

“Why? Why the fuck would it matter?”

 

“The drift creates feelings, changes them into-”

 

“Bullshit!” Chuck had raged, pushing him back hard. But Herc wasn’t blind to the hurt behind the anger. “I know how I feel and what I want. This isn’t something new. Not like we’d be the first either! I saw you and them!”

 

Herc had wanted to say no because it was wrong, that it was just drift-hangover and these feelings would disappear soon enough. The truth was he had also felt the change between them, the desire built from respect and admiration and pride, the need to feel connected to the other half of his mind outside of the drift. The program preferred pilots who were related because there was a natural trust and intimacy between family members. It was a good thing. The downside was that after a while, it was the closest you could be with anyone and no one else could be you’re other half.

 

Like so many other times Herc just didn’t have the words and Chuck had taken his silence as rejection.

 

Without an outlet the two men’s relationship had grown strained, though at the same time, their loyalty and need for each other increased. It had been easier, better, safer to let everyone believe that the tension, the hostility was over the past. It was a cycle that tore at them as much as it drew them closer, like a destructive vortex.

 

Now, when Chuck realises he’s been caught, he just clenches his jaw, turning that well-worn ‘so what?’ look on Herc. It breaks his heart to see the pain-want-shame-desperation-desire in his son’s eyes, that forced calm and stillness in his frame. He knew that Chuck thought that he had turned him away, not because of what it would mean, as father and son, but because Chuck wasn’t good enough. The boy had never seen his own worth, always pushing to be better and match up to his father even when he’d long outshone him.

 

“What? Gonna tell me it’s wrong again?” Chuck glares, fists clenched at his sides when Herc steps closer. There’s a catch in his voice as the boy tries to shout. “That it’s just hangover, even after

years of feeling like this, like all I want and need is you? It’s okay for the Beckets to fuck each other, hell, the twins too or the Wei’s to share a girl together but you can’t even touch me?”

 

Not this time he tells himself. He’d lost his boy once and somehow been given the chance now to do what he’d never let himself do, let himself want. If this is what it takes to bring them peace, Herc will embrace it with all he has. He can’t continue to hurt the other half of his soul anymore.

 

“No.”

 

“Yeah, heard you loud and clear the first time! It’s wrong, it’s just hangover, you don’t understand, you’re too young! So, what? I’m too young to understand or know what I want, but not too young to pilot a Jaeger, to kill Kaiju and die for people I don’t give a shit about?”

 

“No,” The older Hansen growls, backing his son against the wall and bracketing him in with his arms. “not this time.”

 

Chuck is still trying to appear strong but, this close, Herc can feel his breath catch, can see his pupils dilate. They both want this, have for years, the desire and need burning through them. But he can’t just let go, he needs for Chuck to understand that this isn’t just for relief or an eleventh hour sacrifice.

 

“You were sixteen, Chuck, sixteen and already an amazing ranger, an amazing pilot. I wanted you to have something normal in your life for once. I thought, after a while, you’d find someone, a nice girl or sweet boy. You were supposed to live, for this whole damned Kaiju mess to end, and move on with your life. I didn’t want you to waste your life on me, to be stuck because even now that it’s over, I can’t leave the PPDC. If we had, had…. This isn’t normal, it’s not what you should want and I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you hated yourself for this.” It’s jumbled and rushed but Chuck just holds his gaze.

 

“I did try. I wanted what all the papers and magazines said I had. But they weren’t you.” He grasps at his father’s neck, pulling him into a catching kiss. “They were all so petty and weak. The rest of the world, they don’t know what it’s like, they don’t understand! To them Kaiju are monsters on their TV screens and we’re like some sort of actors or rock stars. It’s not real for them, no matter how many people they kill or what they destroy, people don’t want to know the reality. They don’t know what it is to bleed and die, to have to watch people you know put on the suit and walk out to meet their deaths, to connect with someone so deep your memories and feelings and thoughts are theirs. They can’t understand what it’s like to live every day wondering when the alarms will go off, when you’ll lose the deepest connection you’ve ever known, when you’ll feel a monster rip you apart!

 

“You wanted to know why I hate Becket, why I couldn’t just let it go… I wanted to come back, to live our lives, together. Dad,” Chuck moans into him. “I chose you, I chose you long ago.”

 

Herc groans, pushing his body flush against Chucks, breathing in his scent, taking in his warmth.  “And when this is over? When you can just leave, walk away? You’re half my age, Chuck. My son, for god’s sake!”

 

“All of it, I want it all! I want to stand beside you on the battlefield and I want to come home to you when the fights over! I want you in my head as much as I am in yours, no other co-pilot but you. I want a house on the coast, with Max and you and me. I want to be able just wake up and not think I might lose you today.  I want -” Herc cuts him off with a kiss. He knows what Chuck wants because it’s what he wants too. It won’t be easy, he has to get them out of this first, he has to sort out what’s left of the PPDC and figure out a future for them. But if he has Chuck then he’ll move heaven and earth to see that future-dream come true.

 

*****

 

“She’s gone, isn’t she?” Chuck murmurs one day from where they’re sitting on Striker’s scaffolding. They used to come up here in Sydney some days to eat or relax.

 

Herc just nods, uncertain of where this is going. He knows his son has an attachment to the Jaeger but the boy stays quiet for a long moment.

 

“Is it strange that I’m relieved?”

 

“I don’t think so.” And he doesn’t. There were only two ways Striker would be lost, to the claws of a Kaiju or the end of the war. This is the better of the two by any margin.

 

Chuck leans into him, as if seeking and offering comfort for a lost comrade. “I never expected this.” He admits and Herc doesn’t need to ask what. The creed of Jaeger pilots was simple and brutal: You won together or you died together. Pilots rarely survived the destruction of their Jaeger and the Hansen’s had accepted this long ago. At the end they expected her to live on once they had gone, as wreckage on a beach or a display in a museum.

 

“They’re all gone now. Striker, Gypsy, Cherno, Crimson… all of them.” They are. Lost to the claws of monsters and the bad calls of a dead man Herc owes more than he could ever return. The last Jeagers and their pilots, dead or grounded. They know that neither the Kaidonovskys or the triplets would regret their lives or sacrifice if it lead to the breach closing, but their loss is still felt strongly.

 

“We’re here.” It’s all he can say, a cold comfort in the wake of loss the world still celebrates.

 

The two men sit there for a long time, remembering and thinking. Their comfort is each other’s presence.

 

*****

*****

 

Chuck’s staff hits empty space, a hairs breadth from his face. Herc responds with a block, thrusting his staff up with both hands and pushing his son’s back. They both step back before striking again.

 

The eerie silence of the kwoon has them both tense. Usually there would be at least a handful of people around or, even when alone, there would be something coming through the hallways. It’s just them though and there’s the feeling of a building storm on the horizon that they can’t explain.

 

Something shifts down the left-hand corridor and they both freeze.

 

The silence is oppressive and all they can hear is their own breathing. They’re alone. They know they’re alone.

 

A bang echoes, closer this time.

 

“The hell?” Chuck whispers, instinct keeping the exclamation low. They’ve both been on edge since Herc appeared in Striker and the sudden noise kicks their defensive training into gear.

 

The elder Hansen signals him to be quiet and follow him as he pads silently to the left entranceway. He peers round the edge and then steps out cautiously. They make their way down the corridor slowly, checking the shadows and staying silent. Years of training and drifting allowing them to move together with stealth.

 

Eventually, they come out on the hangar. It’s empty and they haven’t heard anything else since the bang.

 

“Dad?”

 

“I don’t know, Chuck.” His boy reaches out and he pulls him in. Chuck’s been handling this so well, he’s so damned strong and Herc never thought he could be prouder and love him more until now.  This situation, this loneliness would drive anyone out of their minds but his boy had been holding on and surviving. Months of this silence and being alone, now there’s something here.

 

*****

 

It’s Becket who tracks him down and wants to talk first. The kid’s been hanging around a bit lately and Herc can’t figure out whether it’s because he feels guilty for surviving or thinks he can offer comfort. He’d kick him out but whatever he was running on post-drift is gone. If he attempts anything he may let on exactly how much it took out of him and may cause problems- not everyone is to keen on what he’s doing.

 

“What is it, Becket?”

 

“Just wondering how you’re doing, sir?” The kid tries to smile, appear comforting and friendly, going so far as to splay himself out in the visitor’s chair. “Seems like you’re never around. Surely, I can drop in for a chat?”

 

“Look, kid, I’ll be having a powwow with everyone involved later, okay? Right now I’ve got this mountain of paper and a call with the brass to handle.”

 

Raleigh isn’t stupid by a long shot and knows something’s bothering the Australian. That much is obvious, but Herc’s older and far more experienced in interrogation techniques than he’ll ever be. Instead, the younger man sighs, rubbing at his jaw. “Look Herc, people are worried. Not just about Chuck, but you. Man, you look tired, you barely eat some days and you hole yourself up in this office when you’re not in medical. Now, well, now you look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

 

“Of course I’m run down!” His nerves are shot and having someone, even Raleigh, act like there’s not something wrong with everything, like he doesn’t have the weight of the world on his shoulders just grates at him. He would have thought that Raleigh of all people would understand on some level.

 

“All you have to do is read the reports to see that Chuck’s losing the battle. His heart rate is slowing, BP is down, and soon he’ll be on full life support if things don’t improve.”

 

“Have you considered that, maybe… there’s… that he….”

 

“He’s my son.” And that really should be the only answer he needs. “My co-pilot, I know him as well as I know myself, Becket. If it was hopeless I’d know. His heads fucked up but there’s a way to bring him back and that’s what I will do.”

 

*****

 

Chuck’s sitting with his back to the bay doors when Herc steps out of Striker. He knows his son’s been waiting for him but he’s worried by the hollow scared look on his face.

 

“What happened?” He doesn’t hesitate, skipping formalities they never needed to use. When he crouches at Chuck’s side, he’s surprised when he leans into him, lips seeking his.

 

“It’s gone. Before, before you came, the city was there. It was empty but I didn’t know that and I spent days wondering around looking for someone, anyone. But there wasn’t anyone, so I came back here, back home.  I just never felt like going back out. After you left I went outside and….” He chokes on his breath. Herc can feel the cold shudder run through his son and his heart clenches because he has an idea of what’s happening. “Its, the city, it’s gone. Like at the edge of the compound there’s just nothing. The water’s edge, before, at least there was a horizon but now….”

 

He doesn’t hesitate to pull Chuck in closer and hold him tight. It’s his fear confirmed. And Chuck’s too, if the look in his eyes is anything to go by. “It’s me isn’t it? I’m dying.”

 

He wants to deny it but, even if the doctors weren’t sure, the body can only sustain itself for so long without the mind. “I don’t know, son.”

 

It’s no comfort, to either man, but it’s the truth. For all the years that people had told him to be gentler, less honest with Chuck, they never understood that lies and gentled truths were more damaging. The truth was something they could work with.

 

“I don’t want to die.”

 

*****

 

They grab some food from the mess stores and bring it back to their quarters.  For all he knows it’s not real, Herc can’t help but enjoy eating with his son. It’s something so normal. Even if they can’t cook anything- Chuck had tried the ovens but they hadn’t worked and the kettles and gas stoves only worked occasionally- it’s not too bad. He’s spent so long eating MRE’s and rations that he’s stopped caring how disgusting they actually are.

 

It’s like being back in Sydney again, before they tried to close the program. They had tried to at least eat together regularly, despite Herc’s increasing responsibilities and the Kaiju attacks. Sometimes, Chuck would grab their meals, bring them back to their quarters and wait for his dad to get back so they could eat together in private. It was surprisingly cute, though god knows he’d

never tell the boy.

 

They eat sitting on the floor and propped up against the bed, playing card games. The only thing missing is Max begging for scraps.

 

It’s when Chuck goes to throw the last salt sachet at him that they hear what sounds like something big moving fast. They’re up and out the door in moments.

 

All they see is a dark tail slip around the corner at the end of the hallway.

 

Herc pulls Chuck back into the room and closes the door quietly, checking that it locks, before turning to check on his son.

 

“Fuck!” The boy collapses back onto a chair. “What the fuck was that? Did you see that? A tail, a fucking tail!”

 

He’s panicking, not that Herc’s much better.  He doesn’t know what that was but he can come up with a pretty good guess. This is still Chuck’s mind, with all his memories, his dreams and his nightmares. It doesn’t take a shrink to figure out that he fears one physical thing most of all, the creatures which changed everything, that seek to destroy worlds.

 

He leans back against the door, keeping an ear out, folding his arms across his chest to keep them from shaking. “This is still your mind, kid. I’d guess that that thing is a nightmare your mind’s come up with to stop us from getting you out of here or to destabilize you.”

 

That and the mental projection of his deteriorating health, though Herc doesn’t tell him that. Monsters are supposed to stay monsters, even in your own head. It’s worrying, more so than the disappearing outside world. In this drift-R.A.B.I.T.-nightmare he had thought Chuck was safe, but now there are things inside with him and he‘s not sure anymore.

 

*****

 

He feels and hears the first rumble, like a minor quake, when they’re in bed but when he shoots Chuck a look he knows it’s not the first. “How long?”

 

The blond shrugs and tries to pull him back in but Herc is not having it. “How. Long.”

 

“Not long, maybe two or three times since the landing pad disappeared.” At this Herc pulls away and sits up, swearing. He hadn’t known how bad it was.  Chuck just looks resigned. “It’s the world ending. My mind falling apart.”

 

At this rate the doctor’s predictions won’t matter. They’ve got a week or two at most before ….

 

He’s been in his boy’s mind often enough to feel the strain pulling on it. It’s taking longer to initiate the handshake. Inside, now he knows, he can feel the invading cold, the silence he never thought could get worse. Why? The doctors reassure him that Chuck’s injuries are fine, mostly healed and the brain swelling is down. There shouldn’t be a problem but still his neural health deteriorates.

 

Chuck reaches for him again, hesitant like he thinks Herc won’t let him but he does. He turns into the touch and takes a moment just to look at his boy, his beautiful boy who thought he’d died but had woken up in a cold, empty world and now was resigning himself to even that world collapsing.

 

This time Herc reaches out and pulls Chuck into a kiss, then just holds him there, letting their foreheads brush and their breath combine. “I’m getting you out of here.”

 

*****

 

He’s noticed changes in his boys head since the tremors started, since the outside world started to disappear. There are little things which anyone not used to another mind wouldn’t notice, but Herc has spent over five years sharing mind-space with his boy and neither of them is stupid. Things are missing, bits of equipment, switches, doors, and the shadows are growing. Well-lit corners are dark now and there’s something ominous about them, something that makes him twitch when he turns his back on them.

 

Then he’s looking for Chuck and finds him staring at a corner behind Crimson Typhoon. The set of his son’s shoulders and alert stance set the hairs at the back of his neck on end. “Chuck.” He keeps his voice low so as not to startle the boy, who reaches back with a hand but never looks away from the shadows.

 

Stepping up to him, Herc follows his boy’s gaze as he takes the hand. It takes a moment but he picks up the darker shape in the shadows, as big as a very large dog.

 

Cold runs down his back and all he can do is pull his son back slowly. They don’t look away just keep watching the darkness until they’re around the corner. They don’t talk as they make their way to their quarters but are sure to keep an eye on the larger, deeper shadows as they go.

 

He tells Chuck not to leave their quarters unless he has to- he’ll come to him. For once the boy doesn’t argue and that more than anything else tells Herc how scared his boy really is. Something’s wrong with his mind and the darkness from outside is creeping in.

 

*****

 

Within two days most of the outer edges of the ‘dome are gone, corridors vanishing off into the black and doors opening onto nothing which feels like standing on the edge of an abyss. Odd rooms have begun to darken, filling with shadows while others are empty of everything but their walls.

 

Amidst the tremors the silence is broken now by skittering in the vents, the rush of something large in the corridors and the sense that something is waiting where the shadows gather.

 

Chuck barely leaves their quarters now and never by himself, it’s the only bright place remaining, aside from Striker’s bay. Even the other Jaegers have begun to darken, to rust. He doesn’t sleep as much, adrenaline and fear keeping him awake.

 

Herc can feel something in the dark, following him, watching him, as he races to their rooms on the third day since the shadows first appeared. There’s too much empty or dark space now. He slows as he gets to the area near their quarters and stops.

 

The door is the only area of light. The rest of the corridor is gone and there’s shadow a few metres between him and the door. The closer he gets the colder it becomes. He calls out for Chuck, to get him to open the door, to come out.

 

His calls fail and Herc knows his only choice is to cross the darkness to reach the door. He uses a running start and leaps over the space, grabbing for the hatch wheel and stumbling on the stairs.

 

For the moment he passes through it and the darkness is nothing but cold and disturbing emptiness. His bones ache from it and his breath comes in sharp exhales of steam.

 

But he’s across.

 

Yanking the door open Herc is barely through before slamming it closed. There’s a sense of something cold brushing past him. He can’t afford to think about it.

 

“Dad!” Chuck is at his side immediately, knowing something’s going on. Herc doesn’t waste time, striding across to the room and starting to throw things into a bag. It’s not real, he knows that, but for Chuck it is and he needs to do something.

 

“You need to move, now. Grab what you need, I want us out of here in five!”

 

Like every other battle Chuck follows his orders without question and they’re ready in moments. It’s like déjà vu, standing there beside his son again, ready to face whatever’s on the other side of that door.

 

Fighting Kaiju was somehow easier, he thinks, though god knows why.

 

He takes point, as always, carefully opening the door. He’s almost certain he sees the shadows rear back when the rooms light hits them. “Leave it open.” He murmurs, skin prickling, as Chuck step out behind him. The light doesn’t reach far and he signals for his boy to move up near him. They still have to cross that dark space and even in the light Herc’s body recalls the chill of it.

 

He reaches back and grips his son’s hand tight. “When I say go, we jump it and run.” He doesn’t need to wait for confirmation, not when he knows with the clarity only the drift can provide that Chuck will follow his every instruction. “Go!”

 

Years of fighting, drifting and just living together sync up and they pass through the darkness, feet landing just at the edge of the shadow. They don’t spare a moment to the feel of nothing under their heels; instead they push forward on the balls of their feet and run despite the ice cold air tearing at their lungs. They clatter into the hangar and, with that perfect sameness of co-pilots, turn and slam the doors shut.

 

This time they can hear the screech of claws on the metal, feel the thump as something hits it.

 

*****

 

Herc’s exhausted. Days of drifting, being the one holding the weight of the connection has left him mentally and physically exhausted. He knows that he’s worrying the others and he’s barely sleeping or eating but Chuck is more important than any of that, god damnit!

 

The doctors want to shoot him full of drugs. The neural techs want to connect him up. And the clock just keeps counting down as his boy’s health crashes.

 

He’s only given them the bare minimum of what’s going on inside his boy’s mind, the darkening and loss of space. He doesn’t mention the things in the shadows, the way the temperature has dropped or the slow decay spreading through the Jaegers.

 

“Why don’t you drift?” Newt asks. “No! No, hear me out!” He holds up his hands defensively when the others go to berate him. “Yeah, Herc’s been drifting with him every day but what if it’s Chuck who needs to drift?” There are blank looks all around but maybe, just maybe, he has an inkling of what the scientist is getting at. Herc’s willing to give pretty much anything a shot, especially from Geiszler. The guy might seem a bit flaky but he has a tendency to look at things from another perspective.

 

“Like, a drift within a drift?”

 

“Yeah! So, you’ve said that you always appear in Striker right? All hooked up. We also know that Chuck was connected to Stacker, but we don’t know what happened after they disconnected the vox. Somehow, he landed up in an escape pod, badly injured and with head trauma. We assumed it happened because of the explosion, right? Well, what if our initial assumption was wrong? Or… or off by a few minutes? The damage to the pod could easily be from the explosion but what if Chuck was wounded before the explosion but after they disconnected from the LoCCent?” He reaches for and activates a display, bringing up a diagram of Striker Eureka. He quickly extracts the visual of her con-pod and points at an area to the left, near where the pilot, where Chuck, would be.

 

 “He had shrapnel in his side and we thought it was from the explosion. But, I’ve been thinking, if we look at it, the pieces are mostly from this area. In the pod. If one of the Kaiju hit them before they could initiate, and with all the damage to Striker, it’s possible that Chuck was knocked out, got injured inside the pod, while still in the drift with Stacker.”

 

“Oh my god!” One of the other scientists cries out, shock evident on his face. “We said neural shock -”

 

“If the disconnect wasn’t full-” Another jumps in and the next thing he knows, the whole group of scientists are babbling away. He doesn’t understand everything that they’re saying but he gets the gist of it all. It’s Becket who calls them back to attention. “Woah! What’s going on? English guys, please.”

 

It’s the first scientist who jumps in again. “It’s possible that an improper disconnect from the drift resulted in Chuck’s brain, essentially, getting stuck. Think of the brain like a computer, with the drift as a very complicated program that connects one brain to another. Now, sometimes, if you pull the plug on one computer very suddenly when the program is running, the link remains but doesn’t register that it’s been disconnected. It hangs. It keeps going and, like a computer, it keeps going until it runs out of power. If Chuck received a blow to the head somehow while still in the drift, the shock could have left his brain believing it’s still drifting and the strain of sustaining that drift is what’s causing his decline.”

 

“And another drift could wake him up?”

 

“Maybe.” He looks at Herc, all business. “You know better than anyone else how little we really understand the effects of the drift. We’ve never had an instance of sudden disconnect, especially coinciding with brain trauma.” He doesn’t mention the loss of other pilots. It was pointless since losing a pilot, a sudden disconnect, almost always meant immediate death. You won together or you died together. “Even in cases where a single pilot survived, the disconnect was expected, on some level, and observed. The survivor didn’t receive any head wounds at the time of disconnect either.”

 

Geiszler takes up the narrative. “Initiating another drift would be like starting the same program to get the error message on a computer. It shuts down the program and the hang.”

 

“You want to reboot Chuck’s brain?” Raleigh looks confused but Herc thinks that at this rate, it’s at least hope.

 

The scientist shares a look with the others. “No. We want to trick his brain into turning off the drift ”

 

“Shit.” Herc mutters, rubbing at his eyes. “Shit.”

 

*****

 

There’s nothing past the main hangar doors and past a few metres from the LoCCent anymore. The shadows have started to seep in under the doors, past their dark corners. The quakes are louder, stronger and Chuck is quieter than Herc can ever remember.

 

It hits him then that his boy is scared. He’s felt it before, known on some level that this isn’t easy for Chuck, but for some reason the desperate touch and kiss makes it real. They’re running out of time. He wonders if this is how Callum felt when saw them take Sabe into surgery. Is this why he’d told them not to wake him up? Herc had thought he’d lost Chuck once, he didn’t know if he could make it through another time. Before, at least he knew the choice had been Chuck’s. There wasn’t time to linger, to feel the creeping cold of fear and death.

 

He wants to give it all to Chuck, to kiss him, hold him, love him, but they’re running out of time and he needs to take control before they lose everything. “Later.” Herc makes it a promise, to them both.

 

“We think we know what happened and we may be able to wake you up, but we don’t have much time.” He tells his son as another shudder grips the base. Somewhere below them there’s a high pitched call and responding low growl.

 

He feels an all-encompassing pride when Chuck sets his jaw and nods. “What do we need to do?”

 

The LoCCent is the same and it should be, considering Chuck knows the place as well as anyone else, grew up in Shatterdomes. It takes them a while to get it working though. There’s no simple on/off button.

 

Herc’s isn’t as good with this sort of thing, not like his son. Chuck prefers the mechanics, while he has a surprising knack for coding, something that’s served them well in the past when they’ve had to fix something mid-battle. Sabe had laughed once and asked them to write up lists of their skills. She’d said that they were so well matched they probably had opposing skillsets, much like their personalities.

 

She probably wasn’t far off.

 

It’s eerie getting ready to drift with just the two of them, no Tendo, no crew or sirens. Everything they do echoes in a way that sounds too final. He’s been doing this so long and even he has never heard the Shatterdome so quiet.  It’s fucking unnerving is what it is.

 

But Tendo and Newt had spent all of the last night showing him what to do, and how to do it. He’d made them drill him until it was as easy as disassembling and assembling his gun with a blindfold on. What he doesn’t remember, Chuck quickly fills in and it only takes two hours to set it all up. At least that’s what it feels like.

 

Another quake shakes the room, hard, and they struggle to stay standing. It’s going to take good timing but he has to believe that they can do it. They took on eleven Kaiju, became the top Jaeger team, helped save the damned world! They will make it.

 

Herc is still in his drivesuit so it only takes a few minutes to help Chuck into his circuitry suit and battle armour, but when his son turns to him he feels something wrench inside. The last time he saw Chuck like this, standing in front of him in his suit, alive, he’d been sending his boy off to a fight he hadn’t come back from. It hurts.

 

“Dad?” He doesn’t think, just grabs his boy and holds him close, almost surprised when Chuck clutches him just as hard.

 

They have fifteen minutes to get into Striker and connect. It’s going to be tight. Placing a gentle kiss to the top of Chuck’s head he pushes him back, “Go!” It would probably still surprise some people how easily he follows his orders, but it’s something Herc has never needed to question or worry about. Chuck knows how to follow orders and takes off with a single nod.

Herc, himself, takes a second to breathe, hits the activation sequence and pelts out of the room. He’s metres from Chuck as he reaches the scaffolding bridge to Striker. It was never going to be simple.

 

The shadow on the bridge is a large and shifting shape, but the eyes, those are eyes, are unforgettable in their glacial colour. It’s brought Chuck to a standstill, this vision of his nightmares.

 

“Go!” Herc doesn’t stop, pushing by, catching Chuck’s shoulder and shoving him forward, “Get to Striker!”

 

Years ago, long before Kaiju, when his only care in the world was passing his exams and asking sweet Angie to the movies, Herc had been a forward for his school rugby team. He sets his stance and rams his shoulder into the mass of darkness. At first he feels nothing but then there’s solidity and a cold he hasn’t felt since his Antarctic survival training.

 

“Dad!”

 

He continues pushing, digging his heals in and ignoring the searing pain in his shoulder. Finally, a jolt and he knows the thing has hit the barricade, but, it hurts and he’s so tired, the cold a leaching ache in his bones. Then there’s another force beside him and Chuck’s there, pushing alongside him, ignoring the shadow claws swiping at their back, the battle armour finally living up to its name.

 

Herc feels it when the thing’s centre shifts and it starts to topple over the edge, feels it when it hooks his armour and drags him forward and over. His breath catches as he’s jerked back to the grating.

 

Soft lips press hard against his and he looks up into blue eyes. “Don’t do that.” Chuck chokes out, pulling him to his feet.

 

They don’t have much time left.

 

They race for the Jaeger and get the hatch open. Inside they help each other connect, years of practice and training having made it all second nature to move around each other, checking cables and locking in jacks. They’re putting on their helmets in minutes.

 

The relay gel fills his helmet and clamps secure them in place, as Herc reaches for the instrument panel, “Initiating drop in 3, 2, 1.”.

 

As the conpod shakes with the drop and settles into Striker, Herc feels a hand grasp his and looks over to Chuck who’s gaze is fixed forward. He wants to say something but doesn’t have the words, he never did. Instead he turns back and squeezes.

 

“Neural handshake, initiating.” The mechanized, feminine voice states.

 

It’s now or never. Please, Herc begs whatever deity is listening, please.

 

*****

 

The first thing he hears is the high pitched beeping of the monitors and frantic scrambling of the doctors.

 

Please.

 

There’s a weight on his chest and he’s gasping for breath, an ache spreading through him when he tries to move. It hurts and his head is worse than the migraine from his first twelve hour drift. When he tries to open his eyes they feel sticky and the barest hints of light are like glass through his brain but he needs to see what’s going on.

 

“What the fuck is going on?” He hears someone shout, too loud, his head aches. “Their heart rates are through the roof!” Another voice calls and he feels hands gripping at his throat. He’s tired and sore but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t fight back. A muffled curse erupts when his hand connects with what feels like a face. Fuck them.

 

He needs to know if it worked, needs to know that for once he did the right thing and won.  So he pushes through the pain and opens his eyes onto a room in chaos. The monitors are screaming and the staff are rushing around and shouting questions and orders at each other. Sitting up sends a rush of nausea through him and he feels a tug on his right arm where a needle is pulling at his skin.

 

Another high pitched noise distracts the doctors and he can turn to look at the other bed.

 

“Dad?” His boys voice is dry and uncertain, asking is this real? It’s the most beautiful sound Herc’s ever heard.

 

“Yeah,”  Yes, baby boy. “Yeah.”

 

Later, the doctors will explain that he had been under for nearly twenty hours, that pulling Chuck out had come close to killing him with the strain on his mind and body. They can’t explain the frost bite on his or Chuck’s shoulders. Herc doesn’t care. Chuck’s out and awake. His son is alive and there with him. If either Hansen lets loose a few tears, nobody mentions it. They’ve earned it.

 

*****

 

The house is spacious with an open plan lounge, dining room and kitchen, two bathrooms, three bedrooms and a deck overlooking the water. The kitchen’s a little small but it’s modern and full of clean lines and chrome. They keep one bedroom as a guestroom and study for Herc. Chuck grabs the one facing their enclosed garden, he wants to dig it up and plant some vegetables there. The biggest bedroom has a great view of the ocean and they make sure it has a big bed and plenty of cupboard space for their clothes. If anyone asks it’s Hercs room but it’s Chuck who chooses the linens.

 

The en suite has a big bath which Chuck wanted and not just because his physical therapist tells him it would be a good idea to relax his muscles. Overall there are a few things that need some maintenance but it will give them something to do for the month and a half they have off.

 

The cliffside view is amazing and there’s a small trail down to the secluded tidal beach which takes about fifteen minutes and is a bit steep but they enjoy the little workout. The waters around the African coastline have largely escaped the effects of the Kaiju and Jaeger battles.

 

The land is attached to a large farm and the family had been happy to sell off the old holiday house to the Hansens. It’s on the other end from the farmhouse and to get to it you have to drive round the other side and through the farm proper, but first you need to know it’s there. They’d earned a decent home and paid for the security and privacy as much as the view. 

 

Walking out onto the deck overlooking the ocean he’d once fought monsters in, Chuck can’t believe it’s over and they made it out alive. Both his father and him. Here he was, six months since he woke up to the Shatterdome’s medical turned madhouse. Dad had got him out.

 

He’d spent the first two months in recovery and another month on mandatory convalescent leave. He’d had two skin grafts and three surgeries. His left shoulder was a patchwork from the grafts and his side was a mess of criss-crossing scars. Months of therapy had him walking with only a slight limp when he was tired and he had most of the mobility in his hand back.

 

There are some blanks in his memories. He doesn’t remember some of his training at the academy, his first successful drift, designing the Striker shield and other things he’ll only know about when people ask, but as far as he’s concerned he still remembers the moments he needs to. He can still remember the elation and fear when meeting his dad’s eyes across the kwoon floor, knowing they were compatible. The indescribable feeling when they were officially made co-pilots and given Striker Eureka. Dad calling him his son. Dad’s eyes that first time. Dad smiling at him when he pulled him from the drift.

 

All things said he was doing well.

 

He doesn’t know what happened down there. Others have asked, especially reporters, but his last memory of the Marshall was looking at him across the conpod before closing his eyes. Newt had theorised that something had happened like an explosion or a hit from Slatturn, which might have knocked Chuck out and resulted in his injuries and being caught in the drift. Pentecost may have taken that extra moment to send him up in an escape pod- though why he hadn’t informed the LoCCent was another mystery.

 

One moment he had closed his eyes, ready to die, grasping to his memories of Herc and the life they’d had, however damaged it had been, to the love he knew they had for each other. There’d been a brief flare of shock from the Marshall and then… then he’d opened his eyes.

 

He had been in Striker but alone and when he called out, flicked the vox switch, no one had answered. He’d wrestled out of the drive harness and out the hatch only for silence and emptiness to greet him outside. He’d searched the ‘dome for hours, maybe days, alone.

 

He’d wondered the empty streets of Hong Kong for so long he’d been lost repeatedly. It felt like weeks had passed by the time he made it back to the Shatterdome but he hadn’t found anyone, no sign of life, nothing. When he’d grown curious or senseless, he’d tried the faucets and found water. There appeared to be no day or night and he never needed to turn on a light, but he had tried an old boombox in some retro store. There appeared to be no electricity but it had played a pop song from a few years back. The ‘dome was no different and Chuck was just glad that he’d found the food stores well stocked.

 

He hadn’t left the ‘dome since that nightmare first excursion.

 

And then dad had appeared. His wake-sleep cycles were screwed up and he’d taken to sleeping more often than not when he’d heard something in the silence. It had been Herc.

 

At first Chuck had been so happy to see anyone that he hadn’t thought too hard on what had happened. Herc had said he was alive, that they were in the drift. He was there with Chuck. When he’d disappeared Chuck had felt like whatever strength he’d been holding onto just crumbled. He’d had a panic attack.

 

He didn’t know how long he’d lain, curled up in the corner of the bed trying to find some trace of his dad but he could only imagine it had been a long time. Eventually he’d pulled himself together and started to think. Dad had said that he was somehow stuck in the drift but it didn’t look or feel like the drift. The sudden appearance and disappearance of his dad had only served to convince him he was in some sort of limbo or hell.

 

It had taken dad coming back again and again, of seeing him step out of Striker, to believe that there was something to the drift idea.

 

*****

 

In the background he can hear the news report, he doesn’t watch much television but sometimes he just needs the background noise. It may seem silly to most people but Chuck can’t stand the silence.

 

For the first week or two he’d been so drugged up that he could sleep through the night. And then he’d woken up in the early hours one morning and all he heard was silence and cold. It had been suffocating and he knew he was panicking but he couldn’t forget the loneliness and emptiness he’d felt for all those months.

 

It was only when he felt a strong, familiar embrace and a rumbling voice calling his name that his vision had cleared and he felt like he could breathe again. The nurses had tried to bring him back from the panic attack but Chuck hadn’t responded. They’d had to call Herc who had stormed in, pushed them aside and wrapped his son in his arms. He’d held him through the attack, saying his name quietly, telling him it was okay, that he was safe and “I’m here, Chuck, I’m with you.”

 

Dad never complained about being woken in the middle of the night. Not even when it became a common occurrence. Instead, he started sleeping in Chuck’s room, making sure that Max was there when he wasn’t. The nurses got used to coming by in the morning to Herc asleep in the chair next to his bed. When the nightmares started they just smiled at how cute the two were, Herc upright against the pillows, hand in Chuck’s hair where he was curled up next to his dad.

 

The panic attacks had lessened once he’d been let out of medical but he still sought out places where there were a few people, a little noise. At night he had Herc and Max.

 

*****

 

They had visited the graves about nine weeks after he woke up. They’d recovered most of the remains, Herc had made sure of it. The only empty coffin was the Marshall’s. They left a bottle of vodka for the Kaidonovsky’s and the Wei’s their basketball. In the end they’d stood silent at Pentecost’s grave- Herc unable to express his gratitude and Chuck his guilt.

 

“He saved one person.” Dad had said in the car. “If he couldn’t be the one to close the breach, if he couldn’t know they would, he at least saved one person.”

 

“But you brought me back.” They’d remained silent for the rest of the way.

 

*****

 

The PPDC was in tatters. The breach was closed and the Jaegers gone. No one knew where to go from there. Dad had been doing his best and had managed to keep everything from falling down around them. In fact, Herc had been working behind the scenes, acquiring all the Jaeger designs and data, gathering the Kaiju experts and working out connections with dealers in the black market through Chau.

 

Chuck was still in recovery but there was no way he would stay still, so Herc had decided to utilise his son’s knowledge of Shatterdomes and protocol, tapping him to play his secretary and XO. He had groused that he didn’t need supervision all the time but was secretly glad to be able to be up and doing something, spending time close to his dad.

 

Things are changing. There’s an underground swell that’s had enough of the old systems of power and wealth. Countries are losing their borders and currency is losing its value. New systems are rising up for trade and barter. There were now parts of South America and East Asia where whole governments have been overthrown by their people, but no new government has been installed. Instead, they’d opened borders and trade routes.

 

Other larger countries had started to worry as their populace no longer supported the old ways. The governments that supported ‘the wall’, even after Sydney, are the worst off as people move back to the coast and cut ties with the old authorities. The wealthy and powerful were being left in the interior they had fled to, as the common people embraced a world without fear and control.

 

Countries that were not closely tied to the PPDC, like those in Africa and Europe, were also feeling the effects as centuries of malgovernance and dictatorships had worn the people down to the bone. Africa has seen a soaring rise in her economies as America’s crops were destroyed or blighted, and her precious metals were needed to defend the Pacific. Now her people were joining the world in demanding a change.

 

Anyone could feel the tension in the air, the calm electric ripple that Chuck had learned meant change was coming. The night before Trespasser there had been the same static edge to the air. He’d woken sometime in the middle of the night to watch the lightening outside his window. Dad had found him and, instead of rushing him off to bed, had just sat with him, his presence calming Chuck to sleep despite the violent beauty outside.

 

He knew dad had ideas of what was to come. He saw it in the private meetings and requisitions. Felt it in how Herc’s fists would sometimes tighten while reading a report or how he ate more and more of his meals in his office.

 

Despite the uncertainty of the future, people stayed, people came. Gottlieb returned with his family, setting his wife and baby up near the old lab. The Shatterdome was growing instead of shrinking as people brought their families in, some even deciding to expand theirs. They were now, more than ever, integrating with the Hong Kong outside the ‘dome, as the doors were opened. The pit crews, engineers, designers and others now focused on using their experience and skills to help the populace.

 

It was a slow shift in priorities with people who has spent a good decade of their lives building giant robots and weapons trying to use those skills to fix the aftermath and effects of those battles. People wanted to move on, to use the new peace as a new start. Not everyone agreed.

 

He remembers the day things had really changed. Representatives of various countries, including the US, Russia, China and Japan, had marched into the Shatterdome and demanded they hand over all of the Jaeger-related research. They had come with an armed escort.

 

Herc had stared the men down from his place as Marshall and asked them why. He’d been told it was none of his business, “You may be the Marshall, Hansen, but you are a soldier and do not have the authority to question us. Do as you are commanded.”

 

His dad had met his gaze before activating the com. “Dr Gottlieb.”

 

“Yes, Marshall?”

 

“Activate, protocol: Mayfly.”

 

“Yes, sir. Activated.”

 

One of the representatives had stepped forward, looking livid. “What is the meaning of this, Hansen? I want that data now!”

 

The man’s actions had spurred the others on who all demanded the data, yelling over one another. Standing next to his desk, he’d seen his dad’s eyes flash before he barked, “Quiet!” the silence was sudden and Chuck even noticed how their security straightened, responding to the authority in his dad’s voice. “I will not hand over anything to you.”

 

“Security! Arrest Marshall Hansen!” The first man yelled, his face purpling with rage.

 

When his men stepped forward they were met by the ‘domes own forces who had been waiting just outside. Clearly they had not realised who the people in the office were, as Chuck had found himself face to face with two of them. Herc had trained his son himself, even before the academy, and then after. They took down anyone armed who was not part of the ‘dome and restrained them.

 

“What is the meaning of this?” Another representative shouted at Herc, looking shocked and somewhat disturbed. These were men not used to not getting their way.

 

“The PPDC will not relinquish any research on Jaegers or Kaiju to any one power.” Herc had stood before them, in all his authority as Marshall of the Shatterdome and oldest pilot in the program.

 

“As of today, the PPDC is no longer affiliated to any one country or government. The PPDC was founded on the belief that all people should be protected from monsters and, by god, that is what we will continue to do. Whether those monsters are alien or human.”

 

“Who the hell do you think you are?”

 

“I am ranger Hercules Hansen, Jaeger pilot and Marshall of this installation.”

 

“Then do your damned job, ranger!”

 

“My job, sir, is to protect innocent civilians. I am doing my job.”

 

The interlopers had been escorted off the premises to the loud cheers of the ‘dome. And if they thought they could turn popular opinion against Herc, they had not counted on one Newton Geiszler who had grabbed the security footage of the incident and posted it online. In a matter of hours Herc and the PPDC’s role in maintaining world peace was common knowledge.

 

Only a few of the staff had left after their declaration. For years the Shatterdomes had been home to men and women of every nationality, colour, religion, sexuality and walk of life. They had devoted their lives to the program. They weren’t going to let their hard-won peace be destroyed by power hungry men.

 

Herc had had some of the scientists and programmers design a virus which would locate, identify and destroy anything related to Jaeger design, especially their weapons. Jaegers had been humanities weapon against invasion my monsters they had never imagined. With that threat gone but the technology left behind in a world where the old balances of wealth and power were

toppling, they knew all too well what the power hungry might stoop to, to retain and gain power again.

 

For the Hansens it was just a change in enemy. Chuck remembered the stories dad would read to him when he was a child and dad had leave. The stories weren’t always of an obvious enemy, monsters more often than not had a beautiful face after all. But they were warriors and protectors and it was what they would do.

 

*****

 

The drift is gone and Chuck is surprisingly okay with that. For years it had been the only way they had really communicated, outside of Max. The change in their relationship had brought on other changes too. Chuck felt secure, safe, in his world, surprisingly. It wasn’t that he forgot or didn’t understand the potential repercussions of what they did but it was better than not. They’d held back for years and it had only torn at them. Now… now they realised that they had to talk.

 

It was difficult in the beginning and thank god their first real argument had been in the confines of Chuck’s mind. The shrinks had had a field day wanting to get into their heads but dad had pulled the medical card and put his foot down when they had wanted them to drift again. Instead, their attentions had been turned to using the drift to treat people in a coma or with other mental health problems.

 

The pair mostly kept to themselves and guarded their privacy aggressively. Chuck had turned down many interviews and only gave those where he knew and felt he could trust the interviewer or reporter. They had both appeared on a handful of talk shows, mostly with Becket and Mako. The focus seemed to be on his ‘miraculous recovery’ and the ‘obvious bond between father and son’.

 

There had been a few more daring reporters who had slipped in a question or two about love lives and thoughts about the future. Chuck couldn’t help the slight flush that had risen round his ears, his mind supplying him with some thoroughly inappropriate and scandalous images and memories, when he told them he was just planning on staying on in the ‘dome and enjoying the peacetime. Herc brushed aside the questions, saying he was focusing on being the Marshall and rebuilding his relationship with his son.

 

They didn’t go out to many of the parties or events anymore. There was still a lot of work to be done and Chuck found he no longer enjoyed the frenetic energy of clubs, nor their blatant sexual atmosphere. More and more often Becket and Mako would carrel him into pulling dad from his office for a few drinks or a meal. Other times it was the Striker crew hosting impromptu dinners in the mess, with music and dancing.

 

The first time Herc had got him onto the dance floor for a spin Chuck had been bright red with embarrassment. Yes, dancing was something most pilots did to test compatibility but it had been ages since he’d danced with his dad! Becket and Mako had joined in and a few of the staff, the music speeding up and the dancers having to go faster and faster until they had to drop out. A pair of engineers had been the last pair standing and Chuck’s leg had ached afterward, but it had been exhilarating. Neither Hansen had stopped smiling that night.

 

A lot of the anger and frustration was gone from their relationship now. And it wasn’t just because they finally gave in.

 

No, the stress and fear of losing each other, of wondering if this was your last day, last drift, last fight with the person you loved most every day was near unbearable for even the strongest person. Instead, it became easier to push them away, especially during those times their attraction had pushed itself to the forefront.

 

In the academy Chuck had nightmares of seeing his dad get ripped from his Jaeger and crushed by a Kaiju on the news. Once they started piloting together, his nightmares were of seeing his dad get ripped from his Jaeger and crushed by a Kaiju from next to him in the conpod. He knew Herc had his own nightmares, years of war and combat and life outstripping even him in their variety and cruelty.

 

Coupled with an inability to communicate and their opposite personalities when it came to handling personal issues, sometimes it was astounding that there had never been a true blow out. If it had come down to blows between his dad and himself, even Chuck doubted he’d have won. Chuck was all bluster and in your face aggression. He had the skills and knowledge to back himself up in a fight but there was a deep darkness in his father which he had only glimpsed in the drift. Herc’s past was something the man buried deep down and Chuck had never felt it was worth it to ask.

 

For all he might have enjoyed verbally hurting the man on occasion, he knew there were boundaries he wouldn’t overstep.

 

Years later and he still did not know exactly what his dad had seen in that last drift with his uncle. Dad had long since learned how to hide things in the drift, learned that the more you tried not to think of something, the more it showed up in the drift. That’s was okay though. That anger was gone and in its place was the knowledge that things had worked out. He didn’t need to lash out at

Herc to force himself to keep a distance anymore.

 

Whatever the drift had shown them, whatever it had changed, they were okay.

 

*****

 

It’s not like he didn’t try, he did. Every teenager wants to be ‘normal’, even one trained to pilot gigantic robots and fight monsters. He’d gone to the clubs and bars, danced with pretty girls and cute boys. It had been fun but there was no… something in how he felt with them. The first girl on her knees in a club bathroom had only got him off because he was young and his hormones would take any helping hand. A boy’s swollen lips were better but it had felt almost perfunctory. In desperation he’d snuck out to a bar and found an older man. The scrape of his scruff on

Chuck’s skin sent shivers through him. The hard body against his was good and the man’s strong hands under his shirt had been amazing. Even the push to his knees in the alley had been a thrill.

It had been the best sexual experience so far but he still came harder with his own hand, imagining freckled skin, short red hair and a familiar scent.

 

He had known why, even when he’d tried not to.

 

It hadn’t taken long for Chuck to realise that, even when he tried to cultivate a relationship of some kind, he had no connection with those people. He didn’t trust them, not really, and they had no clue about the realities of his lifestyle. When they spoke of Kaiju and Jaegers, it was with awe and childish glee. He’d bit his tongue until he tasted blood on more than one occasion, wanting to scream at them how it wasn’t “cool”, he wasn’t some actor, that he’d lost friends to those monsters.

 

The last time he’d lost it in a group of teens who had been acting as if the whole thing was easy, just another job. He’d stood up and glared at them, “Easy? It’s hard enough being a pilot, I lost some of my best friends to those fuckers! Do you have any idea what it takes to fight when you’re body has third degree burns over forty percent of it? When there’s shrapnel through your stomach? Or knowing that containment is breached and every minute inside your Jaeger is killing you?

 

“A week ago two of our engineers were killed because someone in ‘command’ thought it would be better to buy lower grade materials which couldn’t hold up to the strain. It buckled and crushed them. How about the cleanup crews? Poisoned everyday by fucking Kaiju blue and radiation!”

 

He’d walked away and known he’d never ‘fit in’ with most people, most civilians. Even amongst the Shatterdome staff, few knew what it was like to drift but at least they tried to understand.

 

No matter how hard he’d tried, he couldn’t ignore what was right in front of him. And then he’d caught the edge of a smiling kiss, bare skin and teasing laughter. The R.A.B.I.T. had pulled him into dad’s memory - the Beckets kissing and laughing, smiling seductively at Herc, Yancy sliding into his lap, Raleigh slipping behind him and kissing his neck, Herc pushing into the elder, the younger a shuddering mess as Yancy and Herc kissed and sucked him to the edge.

 

He’d felt a flare of heat that was his own and, when he’d been pulled from the R.A.B.I.T. and finally let off, he’d barely made it back and into the shower. He’d been flushed, so hard he could barely breathe and had come so fast and hard his knees had felt like water.

 

It wasn’t either Becket’s name he’d bitten off.

 

For months he had tried to hide it, pushed it down and viciously walled it in but it was so hard. Dad was always there, sleep ruffled in the morning, sweaty and breathing hard from training, stripping off for a shower. There were warm hands on his shoulder, a gravelly voice urging him on and it was beautiful torture.

 

Of course it came out in the drift. Everything did eventually. So, he’d pushed it away, pushed Herc away, lashing out at the confused hurt look in his eyes. Like all things it had come to a head and in the rush from the drift, from the R.A.B.I.T.’s that had raced by, the memories of death in monsters, he’d kissed his dad.

 

For that moment everything had stood still and it felt like oxygen in his lungs for the first time since the breach. It hadn’t lasted.

 

The ache of the rejection was worse than even the worst circuit burns. Whatever they had managed to rebuild of their relationship had collapsed because he hadn’t been able to hold it together.

 

When those last moments in Striker had come, some part of him had been reaching for Herc- across the drift, pulling on the link that never separated truly compatible pilots. Pentecost’s words had meant nothing against the knowledge that, maybe, dad would still be there, would still carry on living if they succeeded. It was a cold but hopeful comfort.

 

In the drift-hell-dream all he’d wanted was his father. Even if he had to live forever in the silence it would have been heaven just for that presence. Dad was hope and safety and love, always had been. When all other’s had seen was an angry boy, a father without affection, they hadn’t seen them in the drift. Even when words had never come, the love was there for them to feel-show-know.

 

Dad had come for him.

 

In the end that was all Chuck had needed. Words were just words. Even from inside he had known that coming after him had been a major risk, that there were so many things that could have gone wrong. They hadn’t even really understood what was going on in his mind, yet alone how. But dad had still risked it all for him.

 

He had never questioned if his father loved him, never needed to. In the same way, no matter how hard he had tried, Chuck could never not love him. Yes, that love had changed, twisted into something which society could not accept, but it was still love.

 

He’d had everything in the drift. They’d had each other and even in the creeping darkness, he was happy.

 

A week had passed after being released from medical and told he was all but a hundred percent. He’d been excited to get back to their quarters, to the privacy they afforded. He waited for Herc, one week, and then another. Dad barely touched him except the few times he’d woken gasping and trembling. Three weeks passed and Chuck had felt a chill settling into his bones. He had been terrified that what they’d shared in his drift-coma was just a memory. After everything that he’d been through, the idea that he’d eventually be able to touch and be touched by his dad, like in his hell-drift-dream, like he’d waited years to, would never be outside of his mind was worse than being dead.

 

One morning, almost a month later, things had come to a head when he had exited the bathroom in only a towel and Herc’s gaze just slid away, dismissing his appearance. Chuck barely spoke or ate that day, stuck in his own head going over everything again and again. Hadn’t they promised each other? Hadn’t he told dad that he wanted it all?

 

In a fit of pique, all or nothing, Chuck had gone back to their quarters early, making sure to feed Max and drop him off with one of the cooks who’s own dog was stuck at home, and stripped. He was there waiting when Herc returned, naked except for his dog tags, on the bed.

 

Dad had stood shocked in the doorway for a moment before a rattle down the hall had him shutting and locking the door. He still stared at the display, colour rising to his cheeks.

 

“I waited.” Chuck had whispered. He’d wanted to sound strong but now, facing Herc, all his fears and insecurities bubbled to the surface. “I thought, maybe… you did nothing. I waited, I hoped that maybe….”

 

When Herc still said nothing, he’d pulled his legs up, curling his arms around them to try and stop the shaking. “You said when it was over, outside of the drift.” Chuck didn’t want to cry, didn’t want to appear weak in front of his father but that ship had sailed long ago.

 

That time dad did move, slipping to his knees and pulling Chuck from the bed and into his arms. “You need to be certain, sweetheart. This is real, here, and there’s a risk. If anyone found out….”

 

“I don’t care.”

 

“You should, damnit!” Herc pulled away and forced him to meet his gaze. “It would destroy me to lose you again, Chuck. And that’s what will happen, they’ll take you away, no matter what we said.” There were tears in his dad’s eyes and his voice had turned gruff, tight. “I can’t lose you again, I can’t go through that again.”

 

He had wanted to give in, anything to stop that heartbreaking look in dad’s eyes. But he couldn’t. It hurt too much. “And I can’t go back to what we were. I won’t. We were destroying each other, dad! We couldn’t say anything, we needed the damned drift to even look at each other!” He started shouting then. “You’ll lose me anyway, because I can’t be around you and not have you. Not now that I know what we can be like, how it makes us so much better.”

 

Neither man moved in the stillness of the room. He’d wished they were back in the drift, in his mind, where it was just them. Even if it wasn’t real, at least he’d had his dad.

 

“Do you want me?” Chuck had whispered, both desperate and hollow, because that was what it came down to in the end. They wanted as much as they needed each other.

 

“What?”

 

“Do you want me?” Louder this time but barely holding back the floodgates.

 

Herc had held back for a moment, eyes taking him in, barely breathing. Then he had sobbed a shuddering breath. “Yes. God forgive me but yes.”

 

He’d wound his arms around dad’s neck and pulled him closer. “Then have me. I don’t want anyone else, never have, it doesn’t matter what the rest of them think. You’re mine and I’m yours.

We’ve given up enough for them.”

 

Dad had kissed him, gentle and deep, just holding him close. Their faces were wet from tears they hadn’t realised they’d cried and the floor was cold but it meant nothing if they could just keep having this.

 

They’d eventually moved to the bed when Chuck’s shivering became too much, Herc lifting him up and rolling on top of him, all warmth and strength. They barely stopped kissing as their hands began exploring what they’d only known in the drift. Somehow, it all felt … more. Like what had come before in the drift was distant, dulled. Each brush of skin, each kiss and gust of breath felt illuminated, too bright, too much.

 

And too soon Chuck needed to feel skin against his and had started to pull at Herc’s t shirt. “Off.”

 

The elder Hansen had nipped at his jaw before rolling off the bed and stripping the shirt off. He was gorgeous. The thick corded muscles bunching in his arms and shoulders, the firm pectorals and belly, not flat, but ridged by muscle. Chuck’s eyes had taken it all in, following the blond-red trail from his navel as it disappeared under his pants, and swallowed.

 

Leaning back, he palmed his erection, eyes trained on the bulge in Herc’s pants, the flare of heat in his dad’s eyes. There was so much he wanted, so much he needed but he was slowly losing his mind watching his dad unbuckle his belt and slip out of the rest of his clothes. Moaning when his pants slipped over his hips and revealed Herc, thick and curved.

 

He’d whimpered and reached for Herc, revelling in the feel of hot flesh against him, the other’s weight grounding him as he settled into the cradle of his hips.

 

Herc laid gentle kisses down his neck, nipping at the tendons and soothing them with his tongue. His hands had traced scars, old and new, his lips following in their wake. Each kiss bloomed like starburst against Chuck’s skin, nothing like in the drift. He hadn’t been able to just lie back, Chuck was no innocent, and had let his own hands explore, finding his dad’s tattoos, the scar from a lost Jaeger, circuit burns from Scott, a bullet wound from so long ago he was barely a dream, the cut of abdominal muscles above his hips.

 

His hands had trailed further down the path his eyes had earlier followed, past Herc’s waist, touching that thick cock he’s only glimpsed before. Gripping it firmly and tugging gently.

 

Herc flinched at the touch, the gentle bite going deeper than intended, making Chuck hiss. He soothed the sting with his lips, tracing his tongue lower to Chuck’s nipple. One hand drifting to the other, running his nails down to gently catch on the sensitive flesh, even as his mouth drew the other in sending heady shocks through his son.

 

It was almost too much for Chuck. In this waking reality. But that mouth, he wanted-needed his dad’s lips back against his, to taste him again. “Dad, please!” He didn’t care that he was begging as he cupped Herc’s jaw, drawing him away and up.

 

He had to let go but was rewarded when their cocks aligned, hot and firm against each other. Both men moaned into the kiss.

 

For long moments they rocked together, gasping and moaning into the others mouth, hips grinding together on every other thrust. Then Herc had pulled back and brought his hand up and instructed Chuck to “Get it wet.”

 

Making sure to hold his gaze, Chuck had grasped his hand, laving the palm and fingers, drawing them into his mouth and sucking just to make Herc shudder and growl, “Not gonna last if you keep that up, boy. Later.”

 

He’d pulled his hand back and grasped their cocks, jerking them firmly. Moaning still Chuck pulled him into another kiss with one hand, using the other to clutch at Herc’s arse, pulling him in tight, tighter, as close as he could be.

 

God, but it was hot, the pull on his cock, the drag of another against it, Herc’s tongue fucking into his mouth, sweat-slick skin catching and sliding, harsh gasps of breath and choked out moans.

It was his every fantasy and more and nothing like them at all.

 

There was no sense of time, only each other.

 

They bucked together when Herc gave a twist of his wrist, Chuck giving in to the need for release intertwined his hand with his dad’s, tightening their grip, pre-cum easing their way.

 

“Dad!” Chuck moaned, his orgasm shuddering through him, desperately clutching at Herc, feeling his cum slick the way further. He felt the moment Herc came, warmth spreading over their fingers.

 

They lay there for a moment, twisted together and breathing heavily, pleasure still coursing through their bodies. Pulling back Herc had rested their foreheads against each other, just breathing each other in, revelling in the moment.

 

He wanted more, so much more, everything but could already feels sleep drawing him in and feel his dad’s muscles relaxing. Later, he’d ask for more but now his hand was sticky with cum and Chuck couldn’t resist bringing it to his mouth to taste them, enjoying it as much as Herc’s muttered curse and moan. “You’ll be the death of me.”

 

“But what a way to go.” Only if you take me with you.

 

With a snort of amusement, dad rolled to his feet and grabbed at his shirt, wiping them down quickly before pulling back the covers and getting them settled in. They didn’t need to say anything- they had spoken enough in the drift and would take it a day at a time like before, this was just more- as Chuck curled into his dad’s arms, both falling asleep soon enough to the comfort and warmth of each other.

 

*****

 

Chuck woke early, drifting out of sleep gently and feeling relaxed and safe. It took him a moment to remember why dad was there, warm against him, skin against his. It was a jolt through his heart and he let himself smile at the memories of the night before.

 

It’s not that he doesn’t understand it, doesn’t get that wanting this isn’t normal or, supposedly, right. He’d battled the demon for years and realised that it’s never been about what the outside world might say or think. Those first times he’d caught himself watching how his dad’s shoulders shifted under his shirt or thinking of the feel of broad strong hands against his arm, he’d been consumed by guilt and self-loathing. He’d tried to be angry at himself and then at his dad. He’d pushed and yelled and done his damnedest to be angry at the world.

 

It hadn’t changed anything.

 

And as his feelings and desires grew and changed, so did his perceptions. He knew he wasn’t the only one to feel these things, to want the taboo. That maybe it was okay as long as it was just him.

 

Even when he’d tried to deny that he was attracted to his own father, he couldn’t stop admiring and being proud of the man. Dad had been there since the beginning, he was the number one Jaeger pilot, the most experienced. Hercules Hansen was a man unlike any other and Chuck was his son, his co-pilot and, at the end of the day, they were all each other had.

 

He doesn’t know when exactly he’d forgiven the man, though he remembers when he knew. He’d been in the academy and was months from graduating when the sirens had gone off. There was a Kaiju sighting. They’d all gathered where ever they could find a TV or computer. Chuck had stood back, watching the news on the canteens TV. Lucky 7 was going to do the drop in Victoria Harbour. He hadn’t known what the feeling building in his chest was as he watched the choppers carry his father and uncle out to meet the Kaiju. He just sat there, keeping his eyes locked on the screen.

 

The fight had started when suddenly something had gone wrong. The right side of Lucky 7 had stopped, the right arm twitching to a halt, sparks visible even through the camera lens.

 

“Shit, a malfunction?” One of the other trainee rangers had muttered.

 

He’d felt ice slide down his spine as he watched and had known that it was more than just a malfunction. Dad was the right side. Dad. Something had happened to dad.

 

The reporter had stared in shock at the images, reeling off questions and theories, wondering if this would be the death of the Australian team.

 

“Shut up, shut up.” He’d whispered, wishing for something to happen.

 

For long moments nothing happened, even as the Kaiju drew closer, then struck the Jaeger down, leaping on top of it. He’d heard the gasps all around him but Chuck’s breath had caught in his throat, true fear immobilising him where he stood. That was his dad, his family.

 

Whatever had happened seemed to have been fixed as Lucky’s right arm grabbed the Kaiju’s throat, metal fingers ripping into it. Blue had run freely down the Jaegers arm as it ripped the creature’s throat out, backhanding it and crushing part of the skull. A kill.

 

The Jaeger had stood up and then stopped.

 

Chuck had turned and run back to his quarters, ignoring the shouts and calls directed after him. He’d collapsed against the door, choking back tears and fear. Dad was alive, dad was alive. It was a mantra in his head. It had been the first time he’d come close to losing someone since mom and it had terrified him. He’d tried to pull back, to remind himself of the hurt and anger of being chosen over her. There’d been nothing.

 

Instead he’d wondered if this was how dad had felt, this crippling fear at the knowledge that a monster was destroying his home, that to end it they were going to use a nuke and his family was caught in the blast radius?

 

Sitting back he’d realised that there had never been anything to forgive. For all he had loved his wife, Herc had done what any parent would have- he’d gone for his child.

 

Later he’d found out that his uncle had been discharged from the PPDC and dad had called him. He’d told Chuck that he’d seen something in Scott’s memories that had torn Herc from the handshake. He’d told him that what Scott had done wasn’t something he could keep to himself and that he’d had to tell the authorities. If Chuck had been angry at him, finding out that he was in medical being treated for circuit burns and psychic shock had made him realise how bad it had been.  Much later he’d see the scars that cut their way from his dad’s shoulder to his hip.

 

Then, he’d accepted what his dad had done, that it wasn’t a choice, that for Herc, Chuck wasn’t just a choice. There were limits to what his dad would accept and even in the coming hell of the Kaiju and war there were lines he wouldn’t allow to be crossed- but Chuck was never a choice.

 

Still, that hadn’t changed his own feelings. Herc wasn’t a demonstrative sort, he never let himself just go and it had taken Chuck time to realise why. Or to see that dad pulled as many strings as he could, called in so many favours, just to be there for Chuck’s graduation was his way of telling Chuck and the world that he loved his boy, was proud of him and supported him.

 

He knew that many believed he didn’t deserve it all, his dad, Striker, the fame, but it hadn’t mattered to him. For all that pilots had been celebrities as much as movie stars Herc had never bought into the hype, retaining a distance from all the spectacle. He’d kept Chuck out of the limelight and speculation as much as he could. By the time Chuck and he had been piloting together Chuck had witnessed the media backlash and viciousness directed at other pilots. In his own way, dad had protected him and when there’d been anger directed at the PPDC, his dad, Chuck had been quick to redirect that attention.

 

Of course there’d been the interviews, the questions about Striker, their partnership, the drift, and all. More than one interviewer had played on the father-son aspect, wondering how he coped with working so close to his own father. Other’s had been eager for him to hit eighteen and then they’d demanded information about his love-life, who he was dating, what he wanted in a relationship.

 

At first it had been easy but time and the growing draw between the two Hansens had seen dad withdraw even further in public and Chuck, almost in response, grow more aggressive. They were put less and less in front of the cameras until the total shut down of the PPDC and the Sydney Shatterdome.

 

Now….

 

Chuck could have anyone and anything now. He was a celebrity, a living saviour. And yet this was all he wanted.

 

He would never be able to just walk down a street and pull Herc into a kiss, never be able to just tell the whole world how,what they really felt for each other. It wouldn’t be easy and they would only be able to act like a real couple in private, but maybe they would be able to use their relationship as father and son to at least be close.

 

There would come a time, maybe an anniversary of the breach closure, when someone would ask if he had a special someone, was he dating? Chuck would wish with all his heart that he could tell them that he did, but he’d just smile and respond with the usual PR privacy spiel. He’d never fake a date with some starlet. Life before now had taught him how lacking other people could be.

 

Given time, he could only hope they’d be allowed to disappear into obscurity, that decades later when kids read about the pilots of Striker Eureka, the books would end with tales of a father and son brought together by adversity who had lived out their years in peace, eventually

 

Anyone else was wrong.

 

But he has him now. Here, in this bed. It’s still early and he could use some more sleep but Herc, relaxed in sleep and sex rumpled, is too much of a distraction. Chuck can’t remember the last time he got the chance to really study his dad like this.

 

His hair is short like it’s been as long as he can remember, though he vaguely recalls photos of his dad in his youth, hair floppy and curling at the ends. His blond-red lashes are surprisingly long when you take the time to notice them, and there are crows-feet at the corners of his eyes. There are a mass of freckles fanning across his face, even more on the rest of him, and Chuck knows that genetics have shared some of them over his own skin.

 

Herc’s fit and he feels warm and firm where they touch. He can’t hold back and reaches up, tracing his dad’s jaw, smiling to himself. He can do this. It sends warmth and giddiness down into his belly because he can actually do this now!

 

Blue eyes blinked open and looked down at him, curled up against Herc’s chest. They’re warm and open, but ever so slightly hesitant. He knows that dad won’t hold him to this, will let him go if he ever wanted to but, really? Chuck’s wanted this since he was sixteen and despite everything, his feelings and desires haven’t muted at all. He loves this man more than his own life and he wants a future with him. The idea of sharing moments like this in the next year, the next ten or twenty years makes his heart race and leaves him lightheaded. When he imagines waking up beside

a Herc in his eighties, himself in his sixties, he can’t not smile and embrace the feelings stirring in him.

 

Instead of saying all that though, he smiles up at his dad and leans up to kiss him. They have some time to settle any doubts before the outside world demands their attention again.

 

*****

 

He’s never had much ink, just Striker’s shield. He’d found himself watching Herc in the early days, eyes tracking the marks on his biceps and forearm- the RAAF shield and the Jaeger logos. Then he’d turned eighteen and dad had tossed him a beer and pulled him onto the back of his bike. He’d sat Chuck down in some tattoo parlour and told him to get what he wanted before stripping off his shirt and dropping onto the table. He’d watched his dad chat to the artist like an old friend, the guy applying the stencil to Herc’s bicep under the tattoo of the Lucky 7 logo. It had been

Striker’s logo, the motif of Max with a scud in his jaws.

 

He had wanted it immediately, that symbol which made him and his father so much better. When the guy had finished with dad’s he’d turned to Chuck expectantly. He didn’t hesitate to strip his shirt off and hold out his forearm, wrist-side up, “Left for me.”

 

There wasn’t surprise in his dad’s eyes, just pride.

 

Thinking back he would admit that, while he enjoyed the patterns on Herc’s skin, he had never felt the need to get more of his own.

 

Then he had spent over two months in his own quiet hell, constantly drawn to Striker. He knew her better than his own skin, she was like a part of him. He wanted to carry something of her with him even if she was gone. He wanted to be able to live everyday thankful for having had her and for surviving her.

 

That’s why he got the number for Newt’s artist and why he found himself laid out on the man’s table, having the lines of her arm inked into his. He had been her left arm and that’s what he would carry with him.

 

It was too large a job to be done in a single visit. When dad had seen the bandages and later the ink, he’d kissed his forehead and smiled. At his next appointment dad had surprised him when Chuck arrived, already on the table having the last lines of his matching sleeve done.

 

It took four trips each, but they took the rest together and at the end they each bore the image of Striker’s arm, Herc’s on his right, Chuck’s on his left. Worked into the sleeve design, as if stamped into the metal the ink detailed, the emblems of what came before.

 

When Herc had finally slipped the last of his bandages off, both of them tracing the lines with gentle hands it had been a moment of catharsis. For them both.

 

The PPDC, Jaegers and Kaiju had been their world for over ten years. They had given up so much to defend the world when they felt like their own worlds were crumbling down, like all they had left were the empty shells of their bodies. They had dedicated everything to becoming the best pilots in the world and nearly sacrificed what little they hadn’t realised they had left, each other.

 

But it was over now. They had survived.

 

No longer would they have to fight monsters, train their bodies to breaking point, wonder when that next klaxon would sound and run knowing each moment drew destruction closer to the shore. Death would come when it came but they no longer had to dance with it. It was over.

 

Striker would always be with them but they’d faced monsters without her and won. They had proven that together, they were invincible. Striker would always be with them but she was just a machine and they, they were still breathing.

 

*****

 

Striker was gone and Chuck was as happy as he could remember.

 

He hears the padding of feet across the deck before strong arms wrap around his shoulders. It’s so easy now to lean back and let his dad hold him, kiss along his neck, tracing the edges of a scar up into his hairline. It’s easy to turn his head slightly, to catch now familiar lips with his own. It’s easy to be happy now.

 

Chuck tips his head back to nose at the crook of Herc’s shoulder, taking in the familiar scent of him. A tattooed arm slips under his T-shirt hem, splaying warm fingers over his stomach. It’s comforting and grounding more than sexual, yet it will always hold the promise of more should he, when he, wants it. This is them now.

 

In a few days they’d be headed back to Honk Kong, back to their lives as Marshall and XO of the last remaining Shatterdome. Not that he will complain. The kaiju threat is gone and they’re more peacekeepers than anything now.

 

For the first time is so many years Herc and Chuck had a future to look forward to, could make plans beyond a few days. And maybe they had forgotten how to live as anything but Jaeger pilots but they were learning.

 

They had time.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fan fiction using characters from Pacific Rim. I do not claim any ownership of the characters or world, I am just borrowing them and this story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official story line.No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> Kaisoku wa chikara nari= continuance is power/strength.


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